Rogue
by ImmyRose
Summary: "These Games shouldn't be allowed. Once was enough, they said. And the Capitol dare to call us liars." - After the First Games succeed in having everything the Capitol fears about the districts proven correct, the next batch of tributes face the prospect of having the brutal reminders of the First Games corrupting them as they figure out the true cost of survival.
1. Soldiers Makes Good Targets

**Reapings - Part 1:**

**_Nicolet Armin (14), District 5 Female_**

As always, I'm completely alone.

It's only me sitting in the ashes of what used to be my home, tying my shoelaces in a double knot as I do everyday. There's ash and dirt on my shoes - as always - that never seems to come off no matter how often I clean them. I stare blankly at a few grains of ash resting on the fabric, trying to figure out what it used to be. Or rather, _who_ it used to be. Even after two years, District Five still hasn't managed to recover from the wide-scale bombing that took place in the less industrialised areas - seeing as the Capitol wanted _some_ factories left so that they weren't affected too badly if they won the war - so the area surrounding the remains of my home haven't been cleared up yet.

In a weird way, I kind of don't want the Peacekeepers to come here and build new factories in the space that my childhood had been spent in; I don't want change, I don't want yet another reminder of how easily everything in life can be erased. It's hard enough coming to terms with the fact that Mum, the person who had raised and protected me for twelve years of my life, is no longer here with me. That's the only reason I haven't tried finding somewhere that's more hospitable than a hollow shell of my old house, because maybe the loss I see everyday would become less painful over time. I can't remember the last time I cried over anything; I can barely find it in me to care about what the world is doing. It doesn't concern me.

Do people even know that I'm alive?

Plenty of people had died or were presumed dead after the same round of explosions that had killed Mum, so what would one more girl added to the death toll do to anyone? All that most people got from a fleeting glance of me is a dusty, tired kid; if anybody recognised the scruffy, malnourished little girl that is me as an orphan, I'd be dragged away to the community home. My mind conjures up harsh regimes, pushy kids that would overreact to everything, people being disruptive and trying to force their views onto me. I cower slightly behind the wall that hides me from the view of passing citizens. It's so much nicer here, when I don't have to deal with how loud people are. They had been like that just before the bombs had started to fall, that much I can remember.

Getting to my feet, I start the long trek down to the nearest city, not even having to pay attention. My feet have been long acquainted with every twist and turn in this route, so there's no point in stopping my feet from dragging with every step.

What little motivation that had dragged me away from my makeshift bed this morning evaporates as the city looms in the distance, a dark grey smudge against fields of crumbled cinderblock and a uniform grey sky. Why am I even bothering? What use does my existence even have? Nobody would want to hire me for work, seeing as I'm horribly unqualified, and even if someone did, what's the point in working? All it'll do is wear me down even more until I eventually die and my body ends up buried six feet under.

Reaching the nearest building, I lean against it, scanning the other people going through the motions of life like they'd actually benefit if they tried hard enough. Even after being faced with the prospects of seeing their own flesh and blood slaughter each other, that's still not enough to wake them up to how needlessly cruel the world they live in is. And even though it's glaringly obvious that the Capitol need them, people still blindly go along with it all. It's almost funny how District Five is in such a rush to go back and serve the Capitol the same way they had done before the war, as if the Capitol can really afford to kill any more of their workforce. The Capitol can try and pretend that we don't have a choice in repairing District Five and that we're expendable - and we are in the long-term - but it's obvious that the Capitol need the districts to keep themselves running, no matter how much the Capitol scorn us.

I guess I'm in a similar situation; I don't like the new version of District Five, but it's the only place I have that I can call home and that provides me with food. Even the scraps of the rich are better than going to sleep with nothing. That's why I'm looking for someone who's oblivious enough to how fragile their livelihood is to leech off.

"You lost, sweetheart?" A male voice speaks, making me jump. I look around for the person once it becomes apparent he's referring to me. When my eyes make contact with his light blue ones, I immediately look away, as if that would protect me from having him see right through me. I've forgotten how much I hate having someone's judgmental eyes fixated on me with the same level of interest as this man's are. Whenever I have to venture into the richer areas of District Five to rummage through the dustbins for scraps or pickpocket someone, peoples' eyes have scanned over me with apathy. Nobody cares for one more scrappy kid in the crowds or really care if someone's committing a petty criminal act; such offences are too numerous nowadays.

"Town square." My voice is barely higher than a whisper as I take a couple of steps back, just waiting for some juvenile taunt or passive-aggressive remark about me to pass through his mouth without a second thought.

I see his lips curve upwards, distorting into a clown's face. "It's just along that road, love."

Why is he calling me that? Why is he even helping me? I try reciprocating the smile, unsure of if that will pacify him. As I turn away, I see a small bag attached to his belt. I pretend not to notice this as I continue observing the cobblestones of the alleyway he directed me down, but it's difficult not to imagine how long that plump bag of coins would sustain me for, the amount of food I could buy with that so that I don't have to come here for a while.

My hand's reached down to the thin shard of rock that's hidden in my trouser pockets before I've even thought about it, but then I see him make that weird facial expression at another stranger as they greet him warmly, and the temptation passes. People actually acknowledge his presence; he actually contributes to this society, no matter how futile those efforts are.

Really, I don't even have the right to the scant pickings I take from others. I do nothing to deserve anything.

Trying to ignore fantasies of a hot meal with the money I'm turning away from, I stick close to the walls of the alleyway as I briskly walk down it, head bowed and arms shoved in my pockets. I manage to avoid another confrontation as I approach the growing queue of people. My pace falters at the number of people milling about, polluting the air with their meaningless words and need to shove their opinions in every conversation, but I steel myself. They won't notice me. Everyone will be too busy worrying about the so-called Reapings to worry about anyone else. That's how people are.

Thankfully, the wait is short and I'm staring into the faceplate of a Peacekeeper in no time. I'm not sure if staring into a pair of eyes is creepier or not.

"Hand." When I oblige, they prick my hand with a needle and smear the spot of blood formed onto a small slip of paper which is then held under the scanner. A few seconds later, my name appears with my age on the scanner's screen and I'm practically shoved by the kid behind me towards the pen for the other fourteen year old girls. "Next."

It's different from last year, when they had kept everyone in the same enclosure. The screams of the boy tribute's mother from last year still ring in my ears as I look for my section. She had ended up being dragged away; something that had inspired a reaction from most of the crowd. All the screaming and writhing bodies of the citizens and Peacekeepers fighting had been like a battering ram attacking me on all sides.

Please let people be rational this year, I silently pray. They mostly accept being trodden into the ground by the Capitol the rest of the time, please don't let today be an exception. I don't want any conflict.

Although there's less people to be in close proximity with, I don't enjoy being herded with the other girls any more than I had done last year. Just because I'm now fourteen - an age when I was supposed to start being mature - doesn't mean that this is any more pleasant. It's only for an hour at most though, I reassure myself. Appearing here is necessary to blend in, that's all.

That doesn't help stop me flinch slightly every time I see someone look my way for more than a second, nor does it block out the anxious mutterings of parents and children alike or the occasional obnoxious kid trying to hide their fear. They all have one thing on their minds that they hoped for. _Don't pick me_.

Well, maybe hoped is the wrong word; _expected_ would be more suitable. After all - as they are no doubt reasoning themselves with - they have _so_ much to live for; why would they be picked? Nobody wants to face the fact that even if they do survive today unscathed, they're only delaying the inevitable. Everybody dies eventually, don't they?

Why is everyone so scared of facing it now? I don't get it.

"Greetings, District Five," a foreign voice pierces my eardrums and my hands fly up to protect my ears automatically before realising that nobody else is doing the same. Quickly, I lower them, not wanting anyone to mark me out as 'weird' or 'different.' "It's that time of year again when two of your children must pay for your folly in rebelling against the benevolent Capitol." I snort at this, earning me a few curious looks. "And must fight to defend what little remains of their district's pride and honour in the Hunger Games! But first, we have a video all the way from the Capitol to be played."

Wait, _again_? I think as the monotone narration begins to play. I remember them playing this very same clip last year and it's something that I had liked watching the first time. Is this something they plan on doing every year?

However, as I analyse the propaganda that's about as subtle as a brick thrown at your head, I notice that the clip is interspersed with snippets from last year's Games. You can't forget some of the moments they had decided to show here, like the explosion the girl from Three had set off in order to kill her two pursuers and the boy from Ten turning on his own district partner. None of the clips portray us in a positive light, not that I had been expecting them to.

Naturally, they have a screenshot of the District Two boy, Aeneas, pumping his fist in the air after he had won the First Hunger Games alongside the sound of pompous trumpets to drown out the vengeful words against the Capitol that Aeneas had screamed when he had won. If you hadn't watched the unedited broadcast last year where you had heard every obscenity he had yelled, you would have thought that he was supporting his victory.

"Isn't that just wonderful? Truly representative of all children in the districts, I'm sure." The escort, Beatrix, smiles maliciously, like some of the older girls used to do to me when they had found me stupid and they had just smiled with hollow eyes and forced grins as they waited to talk about me when I was gone. "Now, time for the girls!"

There's complete silence bar the wind roaring when Beatrix unfurls the slip. None of the children wanted to risk punishment by betraying their fear here. "And the second girl to bear the burden of District Five's sins is...Anya Swain."

I inhale sharply, looking around along with everyone else for any signs of backlash. It takes a few moments for the girl to be revealed as the crowd in the section behind me shuffles away from the condemned girl who is being held back by a tall girl who resembles Anya closely; sisters, maybe? Her blue eyes are teary as she clings onto Anya, lips moving as she desperately begs Anya to not go into the Hunger Games. Another wail pierces the atmosphere as a woman collapses to her knees. "No! She can't go! You can't take her away from us!"

She has people who appreciate her, people who actually care wherever she lives or dies.

I can't say the same.

Would Mum even have done the same for me, I ponder, as I watch the poor mother break down. Would she have tried to fight for me if my name had been called? The little girl that I had buried in the back of my mind would have hoped so, but I know that my mother never fought for something if it was futile. She hadn't tried to reassure me that everything would be okay in the end; Mum had been honest with me from the moment I was old enough to understand her.

Everybody looks with 'sympathy' at Anya, all the while edging away from her. A couple of people nudge into me as they follow suit, making me stare at them in astonishment. How can people pretend to care about her, yet are happy to stand by and watch her receive a death sentence before they go home and forget about her? It just reminds me of how much I despise living in such a world, how stupid everybody really is for blindly assuming that their life is worth living just because they existed.

Before the squadron of Peacekeepers descend on Anya and her sister, I start darting in between the crowd of relieved girls that are just so glad that their lives had been spared so that they can be worked to death, ignoring the surprised sounds of indignation as I push them out of the way. It seems like seconds before I'm up on that stage - away from all those horrible people - alongside the colourful Capitol woman, who twists her candyfloss-pink lips at me. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I-I-I." I have to stop for a few seconds to pull myself together. "I'll take her p-place."

Beatrix's eyes widen; she surely hadn't been expecting any of the 'brutal' and 'savage' district folk to walk forwards to their death for another person. Well, it's not as if I'm being selfless; that means that I actually have something valuable to lose, and if I've learned anything from my fourteen years, it's that my life is anything but valued here. "Is this even - "

"Allowed? There's nothing stopping her," the mayor interrupts, smiling. When Beatrix opens her mouth to continue, he stops her again. "Oh, let her go in if she wants to. What harm can it do?"

"Er, well." Beatrix seems to have lost her nasty disposition as she tries to take this in. "It seems we have a new girl representing District Five. Isn't she brave?"

Even the wind seems to have dropped as everyone stares blankly at me, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief bar a few people that dare to glare at me. I guess they feel that I'm advocating the Capitol by taking Anya's place. I can say the same for how quickly they've allowed the Capitol to walk all over them again.

"In any case, you still have your male tribute to deal with." Beatrix regains her composure within seconds and has already retrieved another slip while I was busy observing the reactions of the crowd. "And the young boy that District Five have sacrificed to the Second Annual Hunger Games is...Austin Daivat!"

There's silence for a moment before a shriek erupts from the throat of the chosen boy and a disturbance is created as the boy - presumably Austin - shoves another kid out of his way as he makes his way towards the stage. He's making a blatant effort to look tough and I sigh. He might as well show his emotions. It might make the average person think he's weak, but trying to deny them only makes you even more vulnerable. When he makes eye contact with me, his face scrunches up in distaste, although the scorn in his expression is weakened somewhat by the tears streaming down from puffy red eyes.

It's then that the realisation of what I've done hits me, how drastically my life is going to change thanks to that one moment of pity for Anya.

Although Austin must have more people that care about him than I do, nobody visibly reacts to the fact that he's entering the Games. He keeps looking over desperately at two stern-faced adults who I presume to be his parents. Even they manage to remain calm, staring impassively back at their son with no tears threatening to appear. Nobody cares for him either? Austin had been fully integrated into this society and nobody cares about the fact that he would most likely never come back?

They must do; it's not like they're at risk of being Reaped, so it's not that they're relieved it's not them up there. He's their son. If they had spent their lives raising him, shouldn't they feel something that he's going to be snatched from them in a blink of an eye?

I sigh, glad that I haven't wasted my time even more than I have with people as selfish as I am. They would have tried convincing me that there's actually something worthwhile about my life in an attempt at dragging me down to their level of misery.

Well, I know the truth. There's nothing left to live for, I think as I stare at the impassive crowd that refuse to acknowledge me properly. My life is just another speck in the treadmill of life and soon I will be extinguished. Taking Anya's place is only hastening the process and making it less torturous for me. I'll still die.

I might not really be okay with that, but that's life. It doesn't matter what I think of it.

* * *

**_Matteo Desontis (16), District 4 Male_**

"After you," I say politely as I keep the door open, allowing Chenelle and Nadia to carry the large box full of paint through. Nadia sticks her tongue out at me as she passes and I smile at her back. It's rare that we actually have the money to purchase supplies from one of the markets that are dotted around District Four, so it's good to see that none of them are letting the thought of the impending Reaping spoil the mood. That's probably what the Capitol want, for us to be paralysed by fear every time the Reaping comes around, but none of us are willing to dwell on this much.

Mind you, that could be because none of the children in this room are older than eight and aren't eligible to be Reaped, while I'm just trying to feel as content as they were. It's difficult to focus on anything too much when you're so caught up in the giddy excitement of the younger kids.

"Matteo, what are we painting today?" Calder asks, running over to me and tugging my sleeve stubbornly as he always does. Calder's the most blatant in making sure he has my attention. Being ignored isn't something that Calder likes whatsoever, hence why he usually overreacts to everything. "I wanna make a hovercraft!"

"No way, hovercrafts look stupid!" Nadia retorts, sticking out her tongue again. "Nature's much more prettier! I'm going to paint a lily."

"I'm making a rose." Chenelle sides with Nadia as she clumsily puts down the box with Nadia's help and grabs a pot of red paint.

"Hovercrafts are nice too." Calder defends himself, speaking louder than he needs to while crossing his arms over his chest. "Way more interesting than some boring old weeds and mud."

"No they ain't, don't lie!" Chenelle replies. "Just because you can't paint flowers doesn't mean that we're not allowed to."

Calder pouts, sticking out his lip. "Matteo, help! They're being mean to me!"

"Are not!" The other two chorus before Chenelle feels it necessary to add, "but let's face it, Calder, you only picked a hovercraft 'cos all you have to do is make a grey blob and yer done."

"There's nothing wrong with Calder making a hovercraft if he wishes to," I gently reprimand Chenelle before I smile at them. "In fact, there's nothing stopping any of you painting whatever you want, you three. There's more than enough paper for you to make a picture."

The cheer is unanimous as they rummage through the supplies for the paper before they grab the dried reed stems and some paint before dispersing. Even though we've salvaged enough money for a few tins of paint and some paper, none of us have the extra money for decent paintbrushes, so I had to make do with fraying the ends of reeds so that they vaguely resemble a paintbrush. They break more easily, but they aren't the worst substitute.

It's as if I'm related to any of these three, but I spend so much time with them that every time I'm here - in this small, ramshackle fishing hut - it almost feels like I'm with a loving family. Well, these three are the closest thing that I have to a loving family, anyway, even though I'm only supposed to take care of them while their real parents are too busy to raise their children.

Looking at these children, it's hard to believe that any real parent wouldn't take the time to make sure they develop a close bond with their child. I sigh at how some people can so easily throw away the bond between a child and their parents as a sacrifice for their own ambitions. Even though my own parents are the same way, it still hurts to realise that this neglect - to put it simplistically - continues to happen.

I don't want anybody else to go through the betrayal I had felt when my parents had pressured me into moving out of their home into my older brother's house instead; something that I hadn't taken fondly to. Noah and I had never quite seen eye to eye, having clashed with each other during my childhood as the girls and Calder bicker with each other now. However, none of the children here are as...fanatic about supporting the defeated rebellion as my older brother is.

"Finders keepers!" I hear Chenelle tease and when I turn back to look at them, she's waving Calder's incomplete picture in the air. "Told you it looks like a grey blob."

The lack of malice in her tone shows that she isn't intending to be spiteful, but Calder's hackles rise regardless. "It's not a grey blob, Chenelle. 'Tis just the bottom of the hovercraft, that's all. And it ain't done yet, so there!"

"Why would you draw that?" Chenelle crinkles up her nose in distaste. "That's the boring part!" Slapping the picture onto her head, painted side facing upwards, she makes what I think is supposed to be the noise hovercrafts make as they fly through the sky, but she ends up sounding more like a telephone ringing. "Catch me if you can!"

"Hey!" Calder immediately jumps up from his seat to pursue Chenelle, who just giggles as she waves the picture around like it's a flag. Seeing as Chenelle's far faster than Calder is, I decide that now's a good time to intervene. Usually, I don't make much of an effort to stop them playing games; they're just children, so why should they have to act mature yet? It's as if adulthood allows you much of an opportunity to mess around, so they might as well be childish while they can. However, I don't want Calder to come away too disgruntled from today.

By the time that I've managed to catch up to Chenelle, she's near the entrance of the room, in front of the large stack of crates that we had shoved to the sides of the hut for more space. Outstretching a hand, I give her a firm look. "Chenelle, I think now's a good time to give that back. How is poor Calder going to complete that picture if you keep taking it from him?"

"Peekaboo!" Someone jumps out from behind a large stack of fish crates before Chenelle can reply, wearing one of the white sheets we had used to cover the tables with. Chenelle shrieks, but I just roll my eyes, my content mood gone. I already know who it is from the voice.

"What a surprise, if it isn't Noah messing around again," I say, watching my older brother show himself from under the white cloth, wearing the most ridiculous outfit I have ever seen him in. That's not saying much, since Noah isn't one for having a flashy fashion sense, but he still looks absurd. His brown hair's covered in a green wig and he's painted rough patterns onto his skin with sand. "Honestly, it's no wonder that all the other kids are so rowdy with you acting like that."

"Me?" Noah inquires innocently. "Why, whatever could you mean? I'm a perfect role model." At this, he makes an extravagant pose, although most of it's obscured by the cloak he still has wrapped around his body. "Isn't that right, Chell?"

She giggles. "Yeah, you're my idol."

It's then that Noah notices the painting that Chenelle's holding in her hands. "Oh, you're not painting again, are you?" He rolls his eyes, although the light-hearted tone of his voice takes away the sting of his exasperation. His smile disappears as another thought occurs to him. "What's the grey scenery for? Is that supposed to be symbolic of today?"

"Noah - " I interrupt, but Chenelle's curiosity has already been piqued by Noah's words. "What do you mean? The Reaping?" Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks about this. "But what does grey have to do with that? Calder's painting a hovercraft and me and Nadia are making flowers, not banners."

Chenelle, having already lost interest in the question, waddles away to obediently give Calder back his picture. Once I'm sure she's out of earshot, I glare at Noah. "Was that necessary?"

"What kind of question is that?" Now that nobody else is close enough to eavesdrop, Noah's carefree facade disappears. "You're just encouraging her to be complacent with our situation. Is that really the attitude you want to support when trying to free District Four from oppression?"

"She's seven years old," I retort. "Seven! It's not fair on her that you're forcing ideas into her head at that age, not when it'll just get her into trouble later on."

"Give her a bit of credit, Matteo. Chenelle's more resilient than you give her credit for." His eyes take on that determined gleam that I'm all too familiar with. He's still caught up in his memories of fighting during the Dark Days. He had only been eighteen when he had fought with a gun in his hands and although I can't imagine why anybody would want to commit the crimes Noah had done in the name of a flawed cause, he's far too eager to repeat the same mistakes that he had done by signing up in the first place. "They all are. Trust me, they'll see the truth once I've talked to them."

"Well of course they will; they don't know any better!" Despite my best intentions, my voice is becoming louder the longer I continue this conversation with Noah.

"Better?" he spits out. "You think that supporting the Capitol is 'better' than abolishing the rationing, the censorship and the Games? The Games that they said would only last one year, if you recall. All you're doing is making them weaker by having them think liars like the Capitol as superior to them! How can you say that you want them to accept any of that as 'acceptable'?"

"I never said it was," I reply. "But you've already lost once; trying to fight now will just mean that you'll lose again. You might as well accept the fact that all of those things are here to stay." Noah opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off sharply. "And I don't appreciate the fact that you're trying to drag down these children with you. They're in my care and I'm not letting your ideals put them at risk."

His eyes flash with anger, but he doesn't snap at me. Noah's already backing away from me as he speaks. "You're just making them weak, Matteo. Weak! Do you really think you're helping now? Just you wait until one of them is Reaped one day, let's see how much you really helped them then."

Noah then whips the sheet around him as he shows himself to the little kids once again. "Boo!" He bares his teeth in a cheesy grin at them, laughing as they shriek in mock fear. "Now, don't forget to behave, or else the escort will come and kidnap you, little children." Noah impersonates a Capitol accent, making it out like he's going to pounce on Nadia and she giggles. "Oh, and I almost forgot - may the odds be ever in your favour, darlings!"

Noah looks meaningfully in my direction as the children pretend to gag and boo at Noah's 'escort' costume, clearly meaning to prove a point, before he smiles again and walks out of the building. "See you later, little brother."

I scowl at him, but he's already gone before he sees this. Shrugging, I try and return back to the task at hand, but Nadia interrupts. "I heard that he saved all the people inside the infirmary when it was bombed by the Capitol!"

"I heard that he took on three soldiers and beat all of them!" Calder gushes.

"You're well lucky to have him as a brother." Chenelle grins, clearly meaning that as a compliment. "That must be amazing!"

"Do you think I'll be like him when I'm older?"

Inwardly, I sigh. I sure hoped that they don't turn out like him; someone so deluded about the elusive rebellion that they think sacrificing more lives in its name is a good idea, but it seems that Noah has already managed to get his claws in them.

* * *

Last year had been painfully nerve-wracking, having to stand in a huddle with the others, flinching at everything that had made contact with me and shaking at the prospect of having my name called out. And this year, the only thing that I know might happen to me in the Hunger Games is in the form of what had happened to last year's District Four boy.

_With shaky hands, Raul plunged his bloodstained knife into the wound, screaming when the knife rips through his skin. However, this didn't deter him as he continued to twist and dig the knife around, trying to reach the shrapnel that was lodged in his thigh. The sounds that erupted from his gaping mouth didn't even sound human._

I rub my eyes, trying to dispel the image from my head, but I can already feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest at the thought of Raul being me. Just last year, he had been the boy that had sat three desks away from me in class, and now he was dead. The Games had driven him to the point of madness.

_Thick trails of pus, interspersed with dark red streaks of blood, ran down his stomach as he tried to destroy the infection that his thigh had received. It had been two days since he had narrowly escaped the explosion that the girl from Three had caused, but he had been pelted with debris in the process. Raul had literally been crying with relief when he had dug himself out of the rubble, but it seemed that his joy had been sadly misplaced.  
_

_He was still making that inhuman scream, mixed with the occasional hiccup that I just about recognise as laughing. Raul was laughing at the fact that he was tearing himself from the inside out._

_"You can't beat me!" Raul yelled at the sky, waving his knife around aimlessly before he retched out bile. There was blood present in the contents that were trickling down his chin, but he paid this no notice as he tried to giggle. "That monster won't kill me, won't ever kill me! I'm going to get it first! I'm going to get _me_ first!"_

_His taunts had reminded me of how Calder sounded when he was defending himself against an accusation; childish and rash, as if Raul was mustering up the energy for one more act of defiance. He had bared his teeth at the cameras, still holding his knife as he laughs. "I'm going to get me first. Me! Nobody else is worthy!"_

_Leaning against the rubble that had once been the building he had taken shelter in, he smirks to himself once before he stabs the knife into his chest, mechanically plunging the knife in and out despite the horrible, horrible screaming, despite the pain he must surely be feeling. Raul manages to stab himself three times before his body slumps over like a puppet with its strings cut, still wearing that deranged grin as he fell and as a cannon fired._

The pops of the microphone as the escort, Adamaris, readjusts it send me out of the memory of watching Raul lose his sanity and life to the Games.

Selfishly, the only thing that I can really think of whenever I'm reminded of his fate is how that easily that can be me if I'm chosen today. I have to dig my nails into my hand so that my mind stays focused on what's happening now and not have memories of the other deaths run through my mind. The more I try to not focus on it, however, the more that unfolds in my head. How easily the boy from Ten had killed his own district partner, how the District Seven girl had looked after she had been ravaged by the machinery in the factories, how empty the girl from Six's eyes had been throughout the Games as she threw away every moral she had.

"Welcome, District Four, to the Reapings for the Second Annual Hunger Games," Adamaris recites in a toneless voice, sounding completely bored with the proceedings. "Before you see which two children are bestowed with the honour of representing your district, we have a message from the Capitol."

Word for word, Adamaris had said the exact same thing as she had done last year, and had shown the exact same video as she was doing now. Doesn't she care at all for the fact that she's partially responsible for condemning two children to their deaths last year and will most likely do the same today? There's nothing on her unmarred features that suggests she feels any pity - or any emotion at all - towards us. No emotion is present in her dark green eyes as she unceremoniously walks over to the girls' bowl and takes out a slip.

"For your female tribute, you have Miss Ray Trevally," she reads out the death sentence with the same lack of flair as a reporter. Even when a young girl that is most likely Ray shrieks at this, Adamaris manages to retain a neutral exterior.

It doesn't take long for Ray to reveal herself from the section of sixteen year old girls, tears streaming down her face that she tries to dab away with the sleeve of the woollen jumper she wears as she scurries up to the stage. Her eyes remain glued to the ground, her blonde hair covering most of her face and making it difficult to see what she actually looks like. She remains hunched over as she sits on the steps, beyond caring about the fact that everybody's staring at her.

Adamaris doesn't spare her a glance as she grabs the slip that will seal the fate of another child. "For our male tribute, you have Matteo Desontis."

Her voice is so utterly lacking in emotion that it takes longer than it should have done for me to grasp the meaning of her words, until wails sound from the section for ineligible citizens. "Matteo, no!"

I can recognise Nadia's voice now and that's what breaks me out of my trance. "Oh shit, I've just been Reaped."

The words are out of my mouth before I can process them properly and a few nervous giggles arise from the crowd at my tactless words. They don't mean anything to me though as I focus on just working my way through the crowd and onto that stage, feeling like I no longer have complete control over my own body. My legs feel like they'll collapse from the weight of my own body at any moment, they feel so fragile.

Raul's body, interspersed with self-inflicted wounds, crosses my mind, and I'm not sure if I'm imagining the sensation of the world spinning around me.

Adamaris gives me a cursory glance, just as she had done last year, before she says one last rehearsed line. "District Four, your tributes."

* * *

**Hello there, I hoped you enjoyed this first chapter. Any criticism or comments on my writing are appreciated, as I would like to improve as a writer.**

**Just as a side note, Matteo and Nicolet will not be the only tributes with POVs. I would not like to make the victor of these Games predictable by limiting myself to one or two POVs, although there will not be POVs for all twenty-four tributes as that may make it difficult to remember everyone. The story has been prewritten as well, so I'll be uploading chapters regularly.**


	2. Devil Has Your Number

**Reapings - Part 2:**

**_Melantha Elvane (16), District 12 Female_**

As the ball hits the wall, there's a muffled thud before it bounces against the ground and into my hands. Mechanically, I chuck it against the brick wall of the house again, not caring that it almost hits the windows where one woman and her nephew are prancing around in their oh-so-happy lives, oblivious and uncaring to the fact that I'm just metres away from them.

Just look at them, acting as if their lives are so perfect.

Any normal person in District Twelve would be happy with the life that they have, what with the plentiful amount of food they have, a quaint little cottage and an obedient child that can continue the family name. Apparently, that's not enough for this family though. In fact, I'm standing outside the house of the most high-handed, spoiled residents of District Twelve.

I look down at the dirty jumper and trousers I have, which are the only clothes I have to speak of until I grow out of them and decide to steal another pair. My hands clench into fists; why do they get to have a house and money and everything that I can't have?

It's been two years, give or take a couple of months, yet I'm still crawling back to haunt here like a ghost, observing what remains of my family as they continue with their lives. You'd think that losing my parents to the war would have made my aunt more protective of me, but the moment she realised that I'm not so willing to conform to the life she had set out for me and Uriel, she had kicked me out. The moment I had rejected the husband she had chosen for me, the job she had wanted me to take over from her and the life she was trying to force me into, she had disowned me.

Aren't families meant to have a special bond between each other? That's the myth that's shoved down our throats from birth, isn't it?

Homelessness is hardly a rare occurrence around here; it happens to children born to large families all the time or if their families generally can't afford to feed them. Nobody has any sympathy for the girl who comes from a family that can actually feed themselves, not that it would do me any good if I did.

My aunt has left to go upstairs, but downstairs, I can make out a figure sitting at a table. The kitchen table, to be precise. Two years ago, that had been me sitting there, happily eating the meat from the butchers' while watching the sun rise. How oblivious I had been back then.

Now my obnoxious brother sits there, right where I had once been. It's like he's trying to replace me, except for the fact that I won't allow it. Uriel's nothing but a gullible, pathetic little kid. He can't complain when I come back with a reality check that our dearest aunt had neglected to give to him. Honestly, I'm doing my brother a favour.

Throwing the ball at the window, I smirk when the sound of the ball hitting the glass makes Uriel jump in his seat. When he turns around and sees me, his face lights up with recognition and pales slightly. I beckon him outside with my hand, making sure to smile so that he doesn't have any reason to be alarmed just yet. His eyebrows furrow with confusion, no doubt deciding if he should alert our aunt to the fact that her not-so-perfect niece is here, but he eventually decides that I can't mean any harm as he walks over and opens the back door.

"Melantha?"

I nod my head at Uriel. "Hey. Long time, no see, am I right?"

He nods like the pathetic boy he is. "Yeah, you don't seem to be doing too badly."

"Isn't that a good thing for you?" I ask, inching closer to him. "I'm still alive and now you're the favourite child. You got everything you wanted without having to get your little hands dirty. Isn't that nice for you?"

Uriel looks confused; an expression that is all but rare to see on him. "I didn't want you hurt," he says. "I never hated you, Melantha."

"Oh, really? You sure didn't act like it when I used to live here. Didn't you say that I used to be the centre of attention and that you envied me?" This I accompany with a bitter laugh. "Bet our aunt's all over you now, isn't she? Well, good for you. Just don't complain when she kicks you out too."

"Why would I ever disobey my aunt?" Uriel says monotonously. "I have everything I need here. I wouldn't abandon it like you managed to."

"You make me sound selfish for doing so."

"Well, no offence, but you kind of are," he mutters. "You were one of the better-off people in this district, loads of people would have killed to be where you used to be, and you gave that up just because you didn't agree with what she wanted for you. Actually, maybe you weren't selfish, just short-sighted."

"Nice assessment there," I say scathingly. "At least I had the guts - and dignity - to not come crawling back for mercy. You won't even face what District Twelve is really like past our fence, _brother_."

"Yeah, about that." Uriel shuffles his feet awkwardly. "What is it like living without a home? It's not as nice as here, is it?"

I snort. "Not as _nice_?" I say. "Talk about an understatement! Imagine living in a world where people drop dead from starvation on a regular basis, where you have to rummage through the bins or venture into the Meadow to find some dandelions. I can't even go to school no more and I ain't old enough to work in those damned mines. There's nothing for me to do - nothing that I'm allowed to do, anyways."

There's silence for a few seconds after my outburst as Uriel takes in what I've just said. "I-I didn't know it was t-that bad," he eventually mumbles, looking at the ground shyly. "I'm surprised you've managed to cope, you know. I mean, last time I saw you, you hated the thought of even having any dirt on you."

My head snaps up to look at him. "You don't know anything about me!" I snap. "Just because you're related to me doesn't give you any right to presume that you know me."

Uriel pales even further. "I was just saying that you've changed - "

Advancing towards him, I sneer as I slam him into the wall behind him. "I beg to differ. Do you really think that I'll take well to you thinking that you know anything about me at all?" I snarl, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the wall of the mine shaft again. "You want to know something about the 'new' me? Do you?"

"N-no, I'm s-sorry. I didn't kn-know, t-that's all. I-I haven't s-seen you i-in a while."

"Too bad. You can't just slip up and expect everyone to ignore it. You have to pay the consequences," I inform him, turning him around and slamming his face into the wall. "I'm better than you."

I send another punch in Uriel's direction, causing his chin to knock back from the force behind the impact. Kicking out at his legs, I laugh when he ends up collapsing to the ground. I'm relentless in attacking him after he curls up in a ball, kicking and punching him without any strategy or logic used. All I know is that I'm inflicting pain on this pathetic little thing and that I'm enjoying the feeling of being on top. To think that Uriel once had the arrogance to presume he knew anything about me. Well, this would teach him to make any assumptions about me in the future - once I left him alone, that is.

I would have never considered this a few years ago. In fact, I might not have even realised how much fun it was to inflict pain on others if I hadn't been surrounded by it all the time. Injuries from mine accidents, starvation victims, people who are just down on their luck. On the streets of District Twelve, you can't escape misery, so why not revel in it? In fact, why not cause it? By being the actual cause of their misery, it elevates me above the rest of the pathetic masses that think they can be compared to me.

I'm better than all of them. I'm enlightened with how the world really works and I'm not going to let anyone else tell me otherwise.

It's only when he stops fighting back that I come to my senses, realising that - once again - I've let my emotions get the better of me. It's strange to think that I had only come here with the intention of stealing some of his food. I can't even manage that without getting sidetracked.

Quickly, I burst through the door and snatch up whatever's on the table, knowing that my aunt would soon see what the ruckus is about and try and stop me. No matter how thrilling a start to the morning beating up Uriel had been, I need food more.

Without a second glance at Uriel, I sprint away from my old house and jump over the brick wall, stuffing everything I have in my satchel. If nothing else, at least I have a decent breakfast for today. I'll be needing it for today's Reaping, especially now that I've left a great impression on my aunt. Being herded in age groups for the Reapings isn't the most practical method for remaining unnoticed by her and the last thing I really need is for her to alert the Peacekeepers about my heinous crime of stealing.

Stopping next to one of the shops, I automatically move down the alleyways, lifting the rubbish bin lids off to see if there are any scraps halfway suitable for human consumption. Aside from a burned loaf, I don't encounter much.

"Seeing you rummaging through bins never stops being funny," a familiar voice informs me and I look further down into the alleyway, trying to make out Reed's features better in the light. It must be Reed; he's one of the few people that acknowledges my existence these days. He doesn't just see me as another grubby face among the crowd.

It's rather sad that I have to actually appreciate the fact that he treats me the way that everyone else should. "Why's that?"

"Why'd you think? I remember the days when you used to be so above doing anything like that." He chuckles. "And now look where you've ended up. Poor thing."

"Oh, you pity me, do you?" A vindictive satisfaction overrides any irritation his smug tone could have mustered up in me as I take out the food I had stolen; a hunk of meat that I can't identify at first glance and some bread. "Guess you won't be needing anything from me then."

He immediately adopts a contrite expression, never once taking his eyes off the food. "Where'd you get that?"

I smirk. "My brother felt like being generous today."

Reed, knowing that I'm not the type to ask for anything, just tuts. "Melantha, not pushing around little kids again, are you? And your own brother as well." He shakes his head in mock disapproval. "I would have thought you would have grown up past that by now."

Tearing off a small piece of bread, I toss these crumbs at Reed, sneering as he picks out the pieces caught in his hair. "Oh no, this never gets old."

"See what I mean?" Reed says. "You're still as full of yourself as ever."

I decide that it's not worth denying this. "Can you blame me if I am?"

He gives me a noncommittal grunt as we start to head over to the town square. "Doesn't matter. You'll still be lumped in with them during the Reaping, won't you?"

"That doesn't mean anything."

Reed rolls his eyes. "It really does. Melantha, you're just the same as everyone else."

_I am not. I'm better than them!_ I have to look away to hide the outrage I'm sure must be visible.

What does he know about me? The only reason he hangs around with me is because he finds me entertaining, just something he can poke fun at because of my fall from grace. Reed's never really gotten to know me better than 'that girl who used to be rich' so it's not like he'd know anything about what I can and can't do.

One day, he'll see my true potential and my abilities at their height. Everyone will, then I'll be more than the homeless reject that everyone thinks I am.

"You know what? You can have this!" I chuck the piece of bread at him before he can see it coming and it hits him on the head.

"Now you're just being petty." Despite his words, he doesn't let go of his next meal, preferring to immediately bite off a large chunk of bread.

"You're welcome to give it back if you don't want it." My voice is equally calm to match his tone, which he knows is a bad sign for him.

He has to finish chewing first, his eyes flickering over to the town square that's now in sight. "I never said that, Melantha. I'm not suicidal."

_If that's the case, you shouldn't be winding me up like that_, I think irritably as we join the queue. Unfortunately for me, he's not the only idiot around, if the furtive ways that everyone's behaving around the Peacekeepers are any indicators of their intelligence.

Look at them, thinking that they're so much better than the Capitol. It's pathetic.

You can tell in the sparks of joy present in their eyes that have yet to be snuffed out and in the devious ways they whisper and glance at the Peacekeepers that District Twelve are still prepared to rebel. There's not much point in telling them that judgmental beings such as they would never be capable of overcoming their prejudices to defeat the Capitol.

In any case, if District Twelve can't even unite within their own district due to the stereotypes and rift between the rich and the poor, then they're going to have a hard time working together to actually beat the Capitol. They've already failed the first time and now that the districts are already fuming over their children dying at the hands of each other, the chances of everyone working together in some idealistic, happy arrangement or whatever shrink with each passing year. I don't mind; the workings of this district are none of my concern, let alone what happened in the other districts. All of them could have been destroyed like Thirteen was and I wouldn't care. Why care for a world that's spurned you? Everyone says that they're trying to achieve worldwide peace and prosperity for everyone, but it's not like that's ever going to happen. People are just too selfish for a society like that to ever work.

When I had the backing of my parents and aunt, everyone used to crowd around me like Reed does, vying for a chance at food, but once my ability to help others had been cut off, they had all abandoned me.

I had hated them back then, but in retrospect, I'm actually grateful now. If my aunt hadn't kicked me out, I would have been stuck in the delusion that people are good at heart for longer than is healthy. At least now I know the truth: everyone is looking out for themselves and trying to change that is just setting yourself up for a fall.

"Welcome, welcome, District Twelve." The escort chosen for District Twelve all but skips to the stage, leaving a trail of rainbows and sunshine in her wake. I shudder at her optimism. Why would anyone waste so much of their time and energy in trying to look a certain way for other people? You might as well be yourself and be reassured that the people who stuck by your side aren't trying to force their ideas upon you. "As is courtesy, ladies first."

She might as well. It's not as if women have equal rights for jobs, pay or a fair trial, so why not change that by having the girls be the first to know which one of them would die in the Games? Isn't that polite?

"Melantha Elvane." The escort smiles. "Ooh, I just love your first name!"

I freeze, unable to comprehend what the Capitol girl had said. Had she actually just said my name?

Well, I shouldn't even be surprised. Knowing how corrupt everyone is, they had probably rigged the Reaping because they wanted rid of me. I wouldn't put it past the authorities - and my aunt - to ensure that only those that don't contribute anything to District Twelve are chosen. Well, only those that the authorities _think_ don't help out District Twelve, anyway; I know far better to think that I'm useless.

It's just that nobody else is smart enough to see my potential, that's all.

Both tributes last year had definitely been the former, however; they were nothing more than scrawny orphans that did nothing but slowly starve to death. They were just another two of the hundreds that deserved everything they got for dismissing me as nothing; Quinn and Arran I believe their names were. It doesn't matter since both of them had been killed off by some crazy Six girl. I can't say it's not anything they don't deserve.

Now I'm supposed to follow in their footsteps? I think as everyone slowly makes way for me to get through. A scowl makes its way onto my face.

I'm better than those other tributes, I'm better than everyone here. A girl like me shouldn't have to share the same fate as those irrelevant brats. And now that everyone knows who I am, I'm in the perfect place to show everyone what I've really been hiding. I know it is!

That's right, a girl like me shouldn't be treated like those other brats and soon enough, I'll be treated like a victor. It's only what I deserve.

* * *

**_Alaric Lyptus (14), District 7 Male_**

"Is today really the best day to be doing this?" My friend, Kiran, asks, looking nervously at the booklet that has just been left unsupervised on the table. Well, booklet might be an overstatement; a heap of scrap paper would be a better description of it. "This is Cove here. He'll kill you for this."

"Just because he's bigger than us doesn't mean he's better," I retort with a sly grin on my face. "Besides, it's his fault if he leaves his stuff lying around like that. That's basically asking for someone to come along and sabotage it."

Kiran is clearly still worried and I can see why. Cove is sitting down at the other side of the room, laughing raucously at something one of his friends had said, and it's obvious that his presence is unnerving Kiran. I can't fault him there though; Cove is probably double my height, although that's not saying much since I'm pretty small for my age. I'm not even five feet. Kiran's not much taller; something that he gets irritated with on a regular basis. "Come on, Kiran. He'll never catch us. Seriously, have you seen him run? A falling tree has more grace than he does."

Kiran raises an eyebrow at my simile, but just shrugs. "After you then. Just don't blame me when he gets you back for this."

I roll my eyes at how stupid he thinks I am. I, Alaric Lyptus, am not one to get caught by some lumbering oaf like Cove. His idea of getting 'revenge' is getting all of his friends together to hunt down whatever unfortunate soul had pissed him off. Seeing as he's likely to forget whatever you did to him within a few hours once he's cooled down a little bit, all you really have to do is avoid him by hiding out somewhere where he can't reach you and you're good. "So you ain't coming?"

"Unlike you, I don't have a death wish," he says smugly. "Go on then, if you're so daring."

"Oh, I will." My resolve is not at all affected by Kiran's lack of faith in me. In fact, the thought of Kiran's look of awe as I prove him wrong once again makes me chuckle as I start to move away from him.

That chuckle - plus the sly grin that I can't keep off my face - alerts many of the surrounding kids around to the fact that I'm up to no good, as usual. As I stroll over to Cove's table, they give me uncertain smiles if they made eye contact with me, making sure to back away a little bit so that they aren't caught up in whatever's going to happen next. Casually, I saunter up to the table and snatch up Cove's neglected homework with a flourish, running over to the other end of the table before Cove has turned around and realised what's happened.

Waving, I open the booklet to the first page. "Well, well, well, looks like someone hasn't answered the second question. Can't fault you there though; I also struggle with figuring out who the current President of Panem is."

There's some nervous laughter at this which is quickly silenced when Cove glowers at them. I continue regardless. "And did you know that District One's industry is _just_ jewellery, everyone? Truly, I think this deserves to be framed."

"You runt!" Cove growls, standing up and slamming his fists against the table as even more giggles rise from the audience that loosely encircled the table we were stood around. I like to think he did it because he wants to actually be interesting and dramatic in his approach to things, but knowing Cove's lack of intelligence, he had probably done it in order to try and break the table in two. "I'm gonna get you for that! Just you wait!"

"I'd be terrified _but,_" I linger on the last word with a sly grin on my face. "Chances are that I'll be an old man by the time you're done, what with the time it takes for you to think of a plan. Actually, I think thinking at all is an achievement for you, so don't strain yourself there."

His face darkens and he starts trying to push his way through the crowd that were milling about, but nobody's particularly invested in moving out of his way fast enough. "Oh, don't you worry, old man," I say. "I'll give you three seconds head start. One. Two - "

Cove literally shoves over a kid onto the floor in his impatience and the others get the idea, hastily moving out of his way. Before I've finished, there's nothing but a few meters of thin air between us and I realise that now may be a good time to run.

"Three! Catch me if you can!" I quip, trying to sound calm and collected before I suddenly whirl around and sprint away in the opposite direction, ignoring his laughter that sounds too close for comfort behind me. It becomes amplified as the other idiots that Cove hangs around with realise that the Almighty Cove has found another way of embarrassing himself further, causing me to smirk. I'm the fastest kid in this school by far; does Cove really believe that he can still catch me after the other times in which he had failed in doing so? Well, I guess you might succeed after failing about a hundred times before.

Bursting through the double doors of the school, I veer towards the tallest tree in the 'playground', if you can call it that. It's basically an overgrown collection of wilted flowers that shake their heads morosely in the breeze, while dead leaves from the skeletal trees are tapping against the ground like fingers against a table. The entire area is fenced off with a reel of barbed wire that only remains upright due to the ivy that grasps at the metal wire.

In the center of this glorious feat of gardening is a large tree that still has a few reddish-brown leaves swinging back and forth, the tree that I plan on climbing in order to get away from Cove. I don't even care if I have to spend the entirety of my break up here; I have nothing else to do and there's only around ten minutes left until I have to go back for lessons anyway. It's entirely possible that I might not even bother doing that, I think as I shove Cove's work back in my pockets and heft myself up the first branch. At least people seem to realise that I exist when I don't bother doing what they want me to.

What's the point in behaving nicely when nobody ever noticed you? Everyone always drones on about the advantages of being well-mannered, polite and agreeable, but you're never rewarded when you follow their instructions, so what's the point? It's not as if we learn anything that would actually help us in school anyway, so I'm not harming anyone when I decide to point out how stupid the lessons actually are during classes.

Would learning about how 'great' the Capitol really help me in the future when I would - inevitably - be chopping down trees? I'm just just making the couple of hours we waste in this place slightly more entertaining for them, all for the price of being known. There's not a single person in this school who doesn't know me and my name is practically notorious around this part of the district.

"Lyptus!" Cove growls, slamming open the doors with both of his hands. "I'm gonna kill you for that."

"Well, you can go and _try_. Try being the main word here, since you'll fail once again." I'm now several meters from the ground, a safe enough distance that I can sit on a sturdy branch and not have to worry about Cove reaching me.

He just narrows his eyes at me. "Just give me back my fucking work already."

"You gonna make me?" I taunt, taking out his precious homework and waving it. "Come on then, it's right here."

Cove seems to be considering climbing the tree to try and catch me, but eventually, he just shrugs. You can tell that it's taking him a lot of effort, as he has to exhale heavily first before forcing the gesture. "Alright, you're welcome to it." Cove's still shooting daggers at me even as he starts to slink away from the tree. "Totally, completely and utterly _welcome_ to it."

He snarls out the last part, but he continues to back away and I pout. It's not as if I have any further use for his work now. "That's a shame. Guess you won't mind me using this as fuel for the fire back home then. That's all it's good for."

It's almost comical how quickly he turns around to face me against, seemingly aghast at my audacity. "You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" I retort immaturely before I become serious. "Why do you want it so bad anyway?" I ask, somewhat curious as I flick through the pages, feeling a vague sense of amusement at how ridiculous some of Cove's answers are. "Seriously, is this your attempt at pissing off the teachers or something?"

"I spent three hours on that last night," he answers quietly, his tone warning me to not pry any further. If he thought that would deter me, he's sadly mistaken. If I can't have a nice life, then why should he be entitled to one? He's not clever, witty or even attractive, yet he didn't lose a single relative to the war.

If it wasn't for Gran, I'd be wasting away in the local orphanage. It's the only thing I can thank her for.

"You actually put effort into this?" I scoff. "No wonder you're failing everything."

This is enough for Cove to lose his composure again and he slams his fists against the tree. I don't have enough time to get a firm grip on the tree, too caught up in reading his work, and I barely manage to grab onto a branch before I slide off and I'm left dangling over the ground, legs kicking the air in a vain attempt to get a good foothold.

The only thing that I achieve with that is making it marginally more difficult for Cove to grab me by the legs, but the part of the branch that I'm holding onto is too far away from the trunk for my feet to lean against. It's not long before his hands are wrapped around both of my ankles and have yanked me off the tree branch. Being the careless brute that he is, he doesn't bother making sure that I hit the ground nicely and instinctively, I make sure to fall on my forearms and roll over the moment I make contact with the hard-packed earth. The impact is still enough to knock the breath out of me and for a couple of moments, I lie there, trying to catch my breath.

The moment that I've gotten to my feet, Cove snatches the papers from my hands, but much to my surprise, he doesn't make any attempts to attack me. "Bet your family's well proud of you right now, eh, Lyptus?" The casual way he mentions my family makes my hand curl up into a fist that I send flying towards his face, but he catches my hand effortlessly before it hits him, squeezing it until he's restricting the blood flow to my fingers. Cove follows this up with a kick to my knees and they give way under me as I collapse to the floor, defeated.

"Have a nice time at the Reaping."

He backs away with a smug grin on his face before he turns around, effectively dismissing me. Scowling, I rub my hand in order to regain some circulation there. However, that's not the only thing that's left me reeling. It's his snide mention of my family that's causing the tidal wave of emotion to paralyse me here, a mixture of pain and grief threatening to burst out of me and leave me nothing but a wreck. Because he's right; they wouldn't be proud of me. There's no way that they would entirely support the boy that I am now, the boy who regularly skips school, who disrupts the lessons he does turn up to, who takes out every scrap of resentment he feels on everybody else so that they can feel what he's going through for at least a couple of seconds.

Well, I'd take doing that to putting up with everybody's fake sympathies.

Even Kiran's not really that close to me; he only started tagging alongside me after people had started to respect me for my fearless attitude in dealing with the 'teachers' in this school. If I hadn't become well-known, he wouldn't be seen within five feet of me. However, I can't bring myself to care about his attitude towards me. There'll be someone else to replace him sooner or later once the novelty of dealing with 'the Lyptus kid' has worn off for Kiran. It doesn't matter - I have better things to worry about than Kiran's lack of loyalty towards me. Like what can happen at this year's Reaping.

_It's happening soon, very, very soon. It's happening_ today. I have to exhale heavily in order to quell the fear that's beginning to churn in my stomach. Ever since the Games had begun, I've anticipated this possibility, but that doesn't make it any easier to take on board the day that the Reaping occurs. The mere thought of spending my last hours in District Seven in somewhere as commonplace as _school_ only makes me feel more antsy. How can I ever concentrate on being able to tell approximately when natural disasters had occurred from the rings in a tree when this will be lingering on my mind all day? I might as well head over there now. Nobody that I hang around with will be out of class, I don't have a job and going home would only provide me with another slap in the face about who had once shared the same living quarters as me.

Without a second glance at the school building, I propel myself over the fence and start walking down the hill where the school building is located to the town square. There's not much point in going back home and being lectured by Gran. I can already anticipate what she would say about the dirt matted in my hair and my ripped school uniform.

Who cares, anyway? It's not like looking like a street urchin on camera will really matter. Besides, that's what my family are, pretty much. We're only a couple of pennies off being broke, the house we reside in has two rooms and a leaky roof and Gran is in no condition to work in any of the dangerous lumber jobs that are so widespread in District Seven. The only money we can get hold of is what she makes from the occasional job that others citizens need doing.

Despite the fact that I drag my feet against the ground in an attempt to kill time, I'm still earlier than is considered acceptable for the Reapings, judging by the fact that only the racketeers are milling around, casually debating with each other over which kid would be chosen this year; if they would be wealthy, what age they would be, how they'd react and all that boring stuff. As I approach them, I can already tell that most of them are betting on someone older being selected, going by the minority of younger tributes last year.

"Excuse me," I say in the most polite tone of voice I can manage. "I would like to join you, if I may."

One of them just gives me a cursory glance before snorting rudely. "Are you even old enough for the Reaping?"

"This ain't no place for a kid like you, Lyptus," the man, Mr Elway, holding the betting cards replies. I recognise him from the local grocery that's just down the road from where I live. "You ain't allowed at yer age."

"I wasn't aware that betting is allowed for any age, adult or not." I smile innocently. "I'm sure the Peacekeepers won't mind investigating why you're all huddling around here before the Reaping like this, unless they think you're hosting a party."

Mr Elway just scowls, but he's already given me a card. However, I can tell by the poorly concealed smiles on his companions' faces that they were looking forward to seeing me fail at betting. "You'd better make this worth it."

"Oh, I will do. I'll take..." I have to pause for a moment to take out the few coins I'm supposed to be saving for lunch and figure out what odds would make investing with these guys worth it without making myself completely broke in the process. "Five to one on this kid ending up in the Games today."

Quickly, I write down the name on the card with the odds and amount of money I had originally invested before handing it over. Mr Elway gives me a suspicious look when he sees the fact that my 'guess' is so specific. He doesn't let onto this outright, preferring to sneer at me. "Have fun raking that amount over."

"I do believe you stole my line." I give him a mean smile. "See you in the Justice Building later."

With a wave, I depart before he gets the chance to react, sauntering over to the section for the fourteen year old boys. Already, I can see Kiran and a couple of his friends gawking at me and the moment that I've had my blood taken, Kiran sidles up to me.

"No, you may not find out what I did back there," I interject before he gets the chance to interrogate me.

He smirks at me. "Like I need to. Everybody knows how Mr Elway can afford to run that shop. Surprised you'd consider trading with him though."

"What can I say? I'm a man of surprises." I brush off his prying with a shrug and he laughs, although his smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"A man? You've barely grown up past being a toddler!"

"Must make me a real smart toddler if I'm in the same class as you then," I say.

Before Kiran can think of a comeback to that, the escort whirls onto the stage, looking harassed. "All-alright District Sev-Seven, let's get this, this show over and d-done with!" He's barely stammered out that much before he rushes over to the girls' bowl, almost falling straight over into the massive bowl that's required to hold all of the slips. People had made great use of the tesserae system, although since the majority of the community had decided to all take out roughly the same number of slips for each child they had, the odds of being Reaped still remained the same while granting everyone some grain and oil. It's not even illegal. "For our girl, we have April Danica!"

A squeal of surprise pierces the silence and a diminutive, wispy-haired girl is literally shoved out from her section before the escort's voice has died down. There's a comical look of shock on her face. Mouth opening and closing like a fish, she hesitantly steps forwards, as if she doesn't trust her legs to hold her upright anymore. Her brown eyes are already filling up with tears that she makes no attempts to hide as she clambers onto the stage.

The escort pays her no attention, having already announced the next name. "Alaric Lyptus."

I thought that I was prepared, that having him call out my name would be no problem because I had prepared myself for this precise moment, but the jarring sensation of having my name - any name - deformed by his accent hasn't died down since the first Reaping. My breath catches in my throat despite my best intentions, drawing the attention of those surrounding me. My head ducks down for a second to hide from all of those curious eyes before I regain my senses and look straight ahead, trying my best to blink back the tears threatening to fall. I don't want to cry, I don't want to break down now, because once I do, I have no idea when I'll stop and then it really will be over for me.

Kiran's saying something to me, but no sound reaches my ears. I can still tell what he's mouthing to me though. _I'm sorry, Alaric. I'm sorry this had to happen to you._

Isn't everybody just oh-so-_sorry_? I don't want or need their pity; it's never helped me before and it's not going to soften the blow now.

I'm going to die. It's really as simple as that.


	3. A Man's World

**Reapings - Part 3:**

**_Ianthe Larkspur (17), District 11 Female_**

"We need to talk."

The words are muffled, even now, but I'm not given that mercy for long as Mother's hauled into the room, fear having twisted her expression so that her lips are curled back in a deranged expression.

Despite this, she can speak coherently. "I-Ianthe doesn't need to see - "

"I think you should let me be the judge of what Ianthe needs, not you," Father says calmly, placing Mother down in a chair like I would with one of my straw dolls.

"But - "

"I think Ianthe needs to see this for herself," he hasn't even glanced at me; his focus is reserved for Mother and Mother only. "She'll learn to appreciate this lesson more than you will."

Mother seems to have caught onto whatever Father's referring to. "N-no, pl-please. It-it's not my fault."

"I don't know what you did to inflict this on me, Amara." Father talks over her. "D'you know what you've done, what everyone else will think? You haven't just ruined yourself, you're hurting everyone in this family."

Mother shields her head with her arms; a familiar position for her. "I'm innocent, please! I did nothing!"

"You're mine, not his." His eyes are aglow with what can only be described as fanatic devotion as he inches closer. "And you'll stay mine forever, Amara."

Gently, he reaches out and brushes her arms away from her face, stroking her hair in the process. "You didn't have to end things this way. All you had to do was do as I had always instructed you to do, Amara. Haven't you learned that things go wrong when you forget this?"

Her eyes are wide as she gazes into his eyes, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. "I did, I swear I did."

He has the audacity to look regretful as he shakes his head. "It's too late. I have to preserve this family's dignity, you know this."

His hands slide down to her neck, thumbs hesitating over her trachea for a second before he starts to squeeze.

Mother's hands immediately fly to his arms in an attempt to loosen his grip, but he doesn't even blink as she thrashes around. The resemblance to a worm frantically struggling to escape from the maw of a bird is frightening. I huddle into a ball, eyes squinted shut in a vain effort to spare myself, but I can still hear the awful strangled chokes she makes as he throttles her.

When there's silence, I dare to open my eyes, but I can't hold back a squeal as he lowers Mother's body back onto the floor and she doesn't move. She's not moving or blinking or breathing or anything. She's actually - she's actually _dead_!

"Y-you - you're m-meant to l-love her," I stammer out without thinking, my teeth practically chattering and making coherent speech next-to-impossible.

Father's fingers trail over Mother's face, the action as repulsive as seeing a snail move across a flower. "You wouldn't understand, Ianthe. I did love her."

"Y-you said she's sel-selfish."

He still won't look at me like the coward he is. "I shouldn't have been so angry with her, you're right. I shouldn't have told her, then she wouldn't have been so hurt."

"You d-didn't have to do that!" Temporary bravado helps me speak with more defiance in my voice. "Why did you kill her?"

"She had been degraded." The matter-of-fact way he says this leaves me in no doubt that he genuinely believes in this. "I had to do something to save her dignity." He frowns. "And if you're not careful, I'll have to do the same to you." Father almost seems regretful as he closes Mother's eyes. "It's for your own good, you have to understand this."

There's a muffled thump as something hits the floor, jolting me awake.

I have to blink rapidly, pulling the blanket over me as if that would be of any use against an attacker. Any moment now, I'm expecting to see Father leering at me as he outstretches a hand towards my throat, ready to wrap it around my throat while he tells me that it's just to preserve my sanity, my purity. I have to pat my neck, reassuring myself that nothing's there, nothing's trying to get me at this moment in time.

_You better not forget that they will do, everyone's trying to ground you into the dust around here_. The thought floats around my head, dispelling any composure I could have mustered up. _You're just another girl eating food that they could have eaten, you're just another girl being paid money that they could have gotten, you're just another girl that no one will notice go missing._

A wave of fear rushing through me is almost enough to keep me here in this small room. It's only the thought of what Sage and Father would do to me if they think I'm being too idle that unfreezes my limbs and allows me to move.

In no time, I've gotten dressed in the most unassuming clothes that I own. There's not really much to choose from, but I doubt that this shapeless grey dress would merit me second glances from any boys. After all, there are girls that see the Reaping as an opportunity to actually dress up, try and look 'pretty' and actively seek out their attention. The thought of anyone giving me the lecherous stares I've seen some girls receive is enough to make me feel like my stomach's been punched.

No, it's a lot better for everyone involved if I just stay out of the spotlight. I'll just go to the Reaping like I'm supposed to do, work hard afterwards at whatever cleanup jobs we have left to do and hope that my brother and Father don't decide to harass me the moment I get in.

The whole concept behind the Games is pretty short-sighted, but what else can I expect from men? Being reminded every year of what we fought for doesn't strike me as the best way of keeping us district citizens in check, nor does herding everyone together at the town square.

There's nothing I can do about it, however. Actually, there's nothing that any of us can do about the Games. Even if the whole of District Eleven rebel, it won't make a difference unless everyone else supports us. Not even the Dark Days had managed that; I don't think Districts Two and Ten had ever been part of the rebellion to begin with and Districts One and Three had been quick to succumb once defying the Capitol had gotten too difficult.

Well, just look at where that attitude had gotten us. Nobody of age is exempt from the Hunger Games, regardless of how much you had supported the Capitol during the war. The Capitol haven't even been that much more oppressive after the rebellion; that's how hard life had been beforehand.

They say it's them being merciful, but anyone with a brain can see the only reason they've been so 'lenient' is because they need us. Naturally, they have their own factories located in the Capitol in case there's ever any shortages, but most of the supplies produced still come from the districts.

As I tiptoe downstairs, I try not to make too much noise, but the sound of footsteps heading towards me proves I've failed in that respect. My heart sinks as I see my brother approaching me. He's definitely not the type that'll let me walk away without trying to boss me around. "Good to see that you're awake." Sage grins. "I've got plenty for you to do."

"And who says that I'll be doing any of that? I have other things to do," I scoff, trying to sidestep past him. He just shoves me in the stomach and pins me up against the wall.

"Let me rephrase that," he sneers. "You will be cleaning up around here and you'll do it now."

"Surely you could have done it while you were awake?"

He just laughs at this. "Why should I? It's the only useful thing you do."

"There's nothing else I'm allowed to do." My temper rises at this ignorant remark on his behalf. Is Sage really so stupid that he's blind to the poor range of options for a girl to do around this district? He's just taking advantage of the situation to manipulate me, most likely.

"That's a lie." Sage smirks, shoving a mop into my hands. "I'm giving you something to do. Now get on with it. I'm sure you don't need to be told a third time."

I shove the handle of the mop into his stomach. "Do your own damn work."

Naturally, Sage doesn't take this like a gentleman and he's quick to shove me back. "Tsk tsk, show some respect, 'anthe. Hate to have to tell our Father about this."

The mention of Father makes me shiver, making Sage grin as his hand slides down to stroke my neck. I flinch, the memory of seeing Father throttle Mother still too strong for me to feel comfortable with Sage even looking at me. "It'd be a real shame to see you end up like Mother. Too bad you're a lot like her. Like mother, like daughter, they say."

"How can you talk about her like that?"

He shrugs. "She's not the only one who's died around here. You're still doing cleanup after that explosion near the apothecary, aren't you?"

"Yes." I clip my words. "I'm helping out later. Can I please go now?"

"Sure, go right ahead." Sage laughs, ruining any hope of me thinking I had gained his sympathy. "Poor thing. Your female sensibilities must have been offended by that. I should be allowing you time to recover."

"You just said yourself that it's traumatising!"

"At least I can recover," he says. "While you're still hung up over what happened with Amara - "

"She was our _mother_!"

"One who allowed herself to be raped." This dismissal makes me grit my teeth together, as if anyone would ever _allow_ themselves to go through what Mother had done. "You'll forgive me if I don't feel like singing her praises."

"Do you have no sympathy?" I ask. "It's awful, having your free will taken away like that. Even saying that is demeaning what happened to her! She did _not_ deserve it."

"You're right," Sage interrupts, managing to silence me. "It is a horrible thing for a woman to go through. That's why she's better off dead. Imagine what she'd be like now if she wasn't."

"She should have a choice!"

Sage is quick to smother my words as he presses his hand to my mouth. "That's the type of talk I'd expect out of you. Surprised they ain't caught you yet," he hisses. "Why should we trust her judgement? No girl would get over being raped. She didn't, and I know you wouldn't either. We did her a favour and let me tell you now, it's in your best interests that the same doesn't happen to you."

The way his hand is smothering my mouth is enough for my instincts to kick in as I knee him in the crotch. While he's distracted, I shove him away from the door, clearing my escape route as I back away. "See you after the Reaping."

"After the way you just acted?" He raises an eyebrow. "I don't think letting you off your leash is the best idea, 'anthe. You'll only get into trouble."

Ignoring him, I walk through the door in the most refined manner I can muster, trying to look civilised. "I don't need your assistance, thanks."

As always, Sage pays no attention to what I've said and once the door's closed, he's all but attached to my hip. "And I don't need you causing a riot by attacking anyone, sister."

"Nobody else is as much of an asshole as you are," I point out, clasping my hands behind my back so that Sage couldn't use them to drag me around everywhere. Anyone would think that he's my father and not some overbearing brother who's a year younger than me. The fact that he's the only boy around the house aside from Father really has gotten to his head. Then again, every other boy in his position would act the same way.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to decide wherever I should despise or pity them. It's not as if they know any better.

He gives me a searching look. "And why's that?"

"I wouldn't know. I love waking up, going downstairs and being told that you're only good for cleaning around the house."

Sage raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. You just want to sit around and have everyone else cater to you, is that it?"

"That's not what I - "

"You think that anywhere else is going to be different?" he continues without a hitch. "Everyone has to pull their weight. Life's hard enough as it is without having you drag us down."

Infuriated, I don't bother dignifying this with a response, lest I lose my temper in public and have everyone notice us. I should know better than to think I'll get anything through Sage's thick skull, yet he still manages to antagonise me every time. The sound of a whip lashing in the distance doesn't help improve my mood, each lashing making me feel more like a dog witnessing lightning.

The crack of a whip pierces the air again as a Peacekeeper lashes one particularly sleepy worker. "Get a move on!"

_They'd be able to do that faster without a burning backside_. I think, biting down on my tongue as I walk past. It makes no sense whatsoever to injure a slow worker as punishment; all it does is make them work even slower. That doesn't seem to matter to the apes that supposedly keep the peace, since all they want is an excuse to hurt us and drive in the fact that we're inferior.

I sigh heavily, trying to expel these thoughts. Mindlessly going along with what we're expected to do in this district may be dull, but thinking about the harsher regime that has been imposed on us is far from a good substitute. If I linger on these thoughts for too long, the temptation to strike out and act on them would be overwhelming, especially when it seems that the Capitol are making every attempt to remind me of how twisted this society is.

It's not just due to the Capitol, it runs much deeper than that. The entire government is corrupt due to how unjust it was. The President, the secretaries, the politicians, the Gamemakers - they're all male. And I know perfectly well from experience what boys are really like. I had to live with a bunch of them for most of my life. Ever since the rebellion had begun, I've been squirming under Father's thumb as he imposed more and more restrictions on my life, refusing to let me even leave the house without Sage guarding me, as if he's any more capable of warding off danger.

In other districts, this might be seen as parental love. I call it Father being territorial over what he considers his property, his little straw doll.

I'm Daddy's little girl in one of the worst ways possible.

It's not like the Peacekeepers are upstanding role models either, unless terrorising district citizens and forcing yourselves onto girls counts as decent human behaviour now. It never ceases to amaze me how the same gender are essentially in charge of Panem. It's no wonder that we're doing so poorly.

Sage feels it necessary to guide me with one hand pressed to my back as we approach the queue and his hand clenches around a fistful of my clothing when I try to struggle free. "Don't make a nuisance of yourself, please."

"Let go then; I _can_ walk by myself," I hiss this between clenched teeth.

I hear him scoff at this, but he backs away from my personal space and I quietly let out a sigh of relief. This doesn't last long as I approach the masked Peacekeeper at the table, where they gesture for my hand. I try to hide my revulsion as the cold gloves clasp around my wrist and the needle is stabbed into my finger, but my throat still constricts, as if preparing for me to throw up. My hand feel dirty from this mere contact the same way I disliked the feeling of mud on my hands. Frantically, I wipe my hand against my dress, trying to rid myself of the sensation of those gloves.

The square is slowly filling up as I wait, meaning more and more people keep jostling into me and making me flinch whenever it happens. By the time the mayor's starts to recite the treaty, I feel like I've just been electrocuted. My body has tensed up, with my shoulders hunching together and my arms being pressed tightly to my chest in an attempt to reduce the space I occupy. Nervously, my eyes dart around, anticipating another attack from those surrounding me, but the worst thing I can see is some of the girls fidgeting.

When the escort finally makes it onto the stage, my eyes train onto him like an eagle eyeing up prey, wishing he doesn't have to wear those ridiculous boots that restrict how fast he can make it over to the girls' bowl. On second thoughts, he's probably being slow on purpose in order to ramp up the tension. That's the sort of thing people like _him_ enjoy doing.

Without a glance at the children he's potentially condemning to death, he snaps the slip open and clears his throat.

"Ianthe Larkspur." His eyes scan the crowd, searching for the unlucky girl.

Unfortunately, that girl is me; a thought that is accompanied with an unpleasant jolt of shock. My limbs still seem to be functioning as I involuntarily take a step back. Slowly, I draw that foot back, using this rudimentary control over my body to place one foot in front of the other as I walk forward, making sure that I just keep looking straight ahead and don't falter in my steps. Now that everyone's eyes were trained on me, I can't afford to slip up or look weak. Doing such a thing will only open the floodgates for mockery and that really won't help my case if I break down and cry like they'd expect every girl to do.

Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could cry anyway. The escort's just called out my name and now I'm just placidly walking to the stage, that's all, that's all I'm doing. Nothing about this scenario makes it difficult for me to pretend that it's not a big deal for me. Nobody in the crowd is acting like it's the end of the world either. All I have to do is keep walking forward and make sure that I don't trip and make an idiot out of myself in front of so many of them.

Now that everybody in this oh-so-glorious nation will be focused on me, I can't afford to slip up.

* * *

**_Linnet Jay (18), District 9 Female_**

"Oh, no, no, no. Just hold it there, yes. That's it! Just lovely."

This mindless talk continues to spew from my lips as I attempt to try and encourage the butterfly to unfurl its wings. Delicately, the butterfly lands on the top of a lily and unfurls its wings. I take a moment to admire the way the light is reflected off the brilliant blue wings and almost forget to press the button on the camera.

A flash of white illuminates the glass box as the picture's taken, the butterfly's pose forever captured in stunning definition. When Father had entrusted me with one of his precious cameras, I had been skeptical as to how they could be so accurate in preserving a real-life scene, but the quality and colour of this picture leaves me in no doubt now.

And to think that all of this technology is mine. Well, it will be once Father is out of the way.

Startled by the camera flash, the butterfly's wings flutter frantically as it lifts off before gliding through the air to find a more suitable location. The ease that it flies through the air with is enough to awe anyone if they allow themselves to be.

Envy wraps a ribbon around my heart as I watch this feeble little butterfly swoop through the air. I would love to be able to do that.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to be caught up in my vision of feeling the wind on my cheeks as I fly over the scenic forests and quaint cottages of District Nine, being able to join the migrating birds and feel the sun on my skin without anything blocking the rays.

My eyes snap open again, focusing on this insect with a leer. If I can't do any of those things, why should something this insignificant be able to? Why should I _allow_ it to? Why does it have the ability to fly while I'm tethered to the ground? It can't even think like I can, while I'm burdened with the knowledge of the rebellion that's always discussed with hushed voices.

Well, it's not that I really know anything about that since it's never really affected me. All that I know is that the Capitol won and that they're the people responsible for the advancements Father is making. If they're providing Father with all of that, they can't be that bad.

Why are people so willing to revolt? Don't they realise that the only reason the Capitol have to be cautious with how they treat the districts is because of how volatile the rebels are? If everybody just accepts what their life is like now thanks to the mistakes they made, the Capitol would be more lenient after a couple of years of peace and life would become more prosperous for everyone in the long run.

And wasn't that what the rebels had supposedly been fighting for? Peace and the end to poor treatment? They didn't seem to realise that they could have already had those things if they hadn't been so busy preparing to fight all the time.

At least, that had been what Father had taught me. I haven't really noticed any signs of rebellion around this part of the district and unlike Father, I rarely venture outside of this area. He actually knows about all of District Nine, so it makes sense to listen to him. He only has my best interests at heart, so he'd want me to be brought up with only the best education and knowledge he could provide.

What would I ever do without Father?

I'm glad he survived the war, even if the rebels had stolen my mother away from me. That's all they are, those rebels; thieves that would plunder and tear up Panem with their short-sighted goals and wishes. They even took away my possessions - my mother - and I'm meant to be one of the people they're supposedly helping!

When I'm older, I'll be the one making them repay the debt. I know Father would want me to honour my mother this way, but that's not the only reason I have this plan in my head. Why should those rebels tear into my life and take away _my_ mother from me? Do they expect me to just sit back and let them get away with it? She's mine and they didn't respect that. I doubt they considered that for even a moment before they took her away from me so that I'll never get her back.

I don't know what they did to her before I found her, but when I stumbled across Mother, sprawled out on the floor as she had been, she wouldn't speak to me. She wouldn't even respond when I tried shaking her like my doll and she had been all pale and cold. The main thing is that she hadn't been listening to me; she wouldn't do what I said.

It took Father dragging me away from her and telling me she wouldn't be doing anything again that I finally got it. Wherever the rebels had taken her, she isn't coming back. Ever.

The door bursts open and any memories of my mother I can remember dissipates the moment it registers that someone else is here.

See, it's easy enough to think when I'm alone, but the moment someone else arrives, I'm tasked with the responsibility of helping them as well. It's only polite and even more than that, it's vital. Humans are sociable beings; we're meant to be like this, yet I'm not.

Life would be so much easier if I'm not always so concerned about what I want, if I assist someone else and leave my own life out of it. People like those who help them out, after all.

That's all I want. I want everyone to like me.

I lean back against my chair as my..._brother_ bursts through the door, feeling my heart sink as I take in his short figure, the puppy fat that's starting to develop around his face and the hopeful look in his puppy-dog wide eyes.

"Not being unsociable again, are you?" Douglas asks, a small smile on his lips.

"Me and this butterfly are very well-acquainted."

"So 'well acquainted' that you don't even know its name." He wags a finger at me. "You could be hurting that poor butterfly's feelings, you know. I'd take better care of it."

_No!_ The thought of Douglas even touching my butterfly, tainting my control over it like the rebels had done with _my_ mother, is enough for my nails to dig into the flesh of my palms. All I want to do is take that glass case and run out of this room before hiding it somewhere that he'll never find it.

_Don't be so selfish. Why can't he have it? He's more deserving of it than you_.

Douglas has kept talking while my mind was astray with that fantasy. "D'you mind if I get a closer look?"

It's my butterfly. Why does he have to take something that's already mine? "Go ahead. I really don't mind."

My heart seems to stop as he leans down to leer at my creation, his lips peeling back to reveal yellowy teeth. Much to my horror, he reaches out and presses his grubby hand against the glass container, trying to get the butterfly's attention. There's an outline of his hand that's left on the glass when he pulls away, looking disappointed.

"What's the big deal with this thing, anyway?"

I shrug noncommittally. "Just studying the way it flies and such, nothing that interesting."

His eyebrows rise. "Wow, must be pretty dull if even you can't find anything cool about it."

My smile tightens at this. "Well...it must be done. It'll help out later."

"Indeed it will, Linnet." My heart swells with pride as I hear Father's voice and as I turn around, I smile at him indulgently. He came straight up to my room the moment he got home without me even ordering him to. Finally, he's learning!

I resist the temptation to congratulation him like I would a pet as I run over to hug him. Douglas tries to join in, but all I do is stand in front of Father, holding him tightly so that Douglas can't stake his claim any more than he already has. "I've missed you."

Father ruffles my hair affectionately. "It's only been six hours since I last saw you."

"But that's a whole quarter of a day!" Douglas interjects, determined to spoil the moment.

I don't let go of Father. "I am allowed to show appreciation for his well-being. Father could have been injured at work today."

He rolls his eyes, as he always does on a daily basis whenever I treat Father like this, but thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut. Ignoring Douglas, I rest my head on Father's shoulder, "So, what new idea have you come up with today?"

Father's quick to push me back with more force than I like, making me pout slightly. Doesn't he like my company?

"You know that I can't always make up the ideas for mutts. It just wouldn't be fair on the other scientists," he says pragmatically.

I've heard that excuse from him a hundred times before. "By that, you mean that your idea was a total flop. I did tell you that your idea of livestock regenerating limbs for more meat would be a disaster, didn't I?"

I tut in mock-disapproval - because how can I ever be disappointed with him? - and my father pretends to glare at me. He might not be the absolute best mutt-designer around, but at least he can take a joke. Besides, it's not the first time he's messed up and every time he has, he's learned from his mistakes and become better as a result. When I'm older, I'm going to be just like him. "Maybe I should take you to the next meeting. You'd probably thrive there."

My mood perks up. "Aw, please do!"

"Well..."

"You can't get my hopes up like that just to let me down now." I pout before giving him my best winning smile.

"Well, with a face as ugly as that, you just have to take pity on her," Douglas interrupts. While I've been busy with Father, Douglas has apparently tried making himself look presentable, if his brown hair being neatly combed back and donning a smart jacket and sensible trousers are any clues as to what he's trying to do. He's even wearing a tie, as if he's not being obvious enough. I've seen him do this several times not to recognise the signs; he's just jealous of the fact that Father actually wants me around and is trying harder to steal that away from me.

Douglas - of all people - should know that I hate it when people steal things away from me.

"Douglas, Linnet cannot be ugly. She has my genes, after all." He winks at us. "And so you do, surprisingly enough."

I stick my tongue out at Douglas and he makes a face at me in return. "Yeah, I clearly inherited the brains of the family, but I digress."

"You're the brains of the family? I hope that was you being ironic there." I snipe. He doesn't deserve to be the anything of my family. Even calling him my brother is more than he deserves.

"But I digress," Douglas repeats slowly. "I think Linnet should go to work with you - I don't have to deal with Miss Goody-Two-Shoes while she can squeal and get excited over some dumb animals. It's a win-win situation."

"They are not dumb." I don't even bother defending myself against his accusation of me being a 'goody-two-shoes' because it's not entirely unfounded. It doesn't matter to me though; as long as I remain on everyone's good sides, then it doesn't matter what Douglas thinks of my approach. "Many of them have very advanced intelligence when need be. In fact, some animal variants have started to replace human waiters and receptionists in the Capitol due to the lax animal controls and because they don't need to be paid! Investing in animal servants is a great idea in the Capitol right now."

"Like I said, they're dumb," Douglas just says, completely disregarding the other, more intelligent points he could have made to make a 'witty' comeback. The grudging sense of appreciation I've been fostering towards him for sticking up for me starts to melt away to be replaced with a desire to knock some sense into him.

Father, having checked his watch, is quick to herd Douglas away. "It's almost time for the Reapings. I think Linnet needs to freshen up, don't you think?"

"Yes, that would be appreciated." I give a small curtsey, silently thanking Father for dragging away Douglas before I actually do hit him.

It's fine, I repeat this to myself fervently, squeezing my eyes shut. It's fine, I'm just perfectly fine. I'll just count to ten and when I open my eyes, it'll be fine. _One, two._ He'll be gone and I'll have this all to myself like I'm supposed to. _Three, four._

It's not like I'm just letting Douglas walk all over me - _five, six_ - and allowing him to defile all of my possessions, no.

_"Seven, eight_," I'm muttering to myself at this stage. It's just your little brother, he can't really know what he's doing. "_Nine_." He can just 'accidentally' take even more away from you than he already has -

The shattering of glass is the next thing that I comprehend and when I open my eyes, the glass container's no longer on the table. My hand tingles from the impact and I realise that my arm is still outstretched towards the table.

It's not my fault that happened. All I had been trying to do was stop it from falling, yes. That's why I had moved in the first place.

"Linny? Are you okay?" I hear Douglas ask, although I can barely make out his voice.

"Yeah, just dropped a couple of books - it's nothing major!" I'm quick to shout back. If he's as far away from me as I hope he is, he probably wouldn't have heard the glass shatter.

It's his fault that it broke, not mine. He just has to have everything, doesn't he? He can't handle the fact that I need to have something too.

A flash of blue distracts me and all thoughts of Douglas vanish once I see how the glass seems to capture the sunlight and throw it back at me like prisms. Trapped under a glass shard, I can also see the butterfly, wings fluttering morosely as it tries to escape.

It doesn't matter, nobody will really care if they never see this butterfly again. This is my creation and I can do what I want with it. I'm the girl that raised it from the day it was hatched from its egg and I can take back that favour any time I like.

I mean, it's not like I have anywhere near that much control over the rest of my life; why should I relinquish my control of one of the few things I have to _Douglas_? Just because he's younger than me, just because my friends think it's cute I have a little brother, just because Father's always taking his side and sympathising with Douglas over me apparently makes it just fine that I'm not the centre of their worlds. After all, he's just so _adorable_.

But I won't let him have everything.

Gently, my fingers reach out and stroke its wings, guiding it away from the glass before I cusp it between my palms. I giggle as its wings tickle my hands as it tries to escape.

"Now you're mine," I whisper. "He doesn't _deserve_ you."

* * *

As she should do, one of my friends has reserved a space for me when I arrive for the Reapings. However, I know it's rude if I don't acknowledge this. "Thanks."

"You so owe me for this." She sticks her tongue out at me.

I nod. "Sure, what do you want me to do?"

The girl - Eliza, I think her name is - just looks amused. "I'm kidding. Jeez, learn to take a joke."

Although I continue to smile, I'm kicking myself internally for how easily she's outmanoeuvred me. I hadn't even done it intentionally so that people could feel better about themselves, that's the worst part. Well, the second-worst part. What really irritates me is that Eliza's _my_ friend; she shouldn't be upstaging me. Mother had always told me that people like Eliza are there to prop me up, to make _me_ look better, not her.

She leans in, looking less at ease than she had done just seconds ago. "It's weird. Even when we both get out of this Reaping, we still got our siblings to worry about. Adeline's first Reaping's going to be next year."

I give her a sharp look. Since when does this Adeline girl enter the equation? She's not here and she certainly doesn't relate to me, not in any way that's helpful.

Really, if Eliza chooses to hang around with me, I should be her main priority, not her little sister or anyone. I'm who she's chosen to stick by; she can worry about others when I'm not with her anymore.

Someone shushes us, but Eliza just gives me a tight smile as the escort mounts the stage. As he proceeds to read out the Treaty, I shuffle closer to Eliza, feeling less singled out in the bad way when she's next to me. Now's not the time to be noticed when there are two others who deserve it more.

_Do they really? _

_It's wasted on them; they'll only die sooner or later._

Slowly, my fingers intwine with Eliza's as the escort moves towards the bowl solemnly. I shift slightly, wishing that the escort would hurry up. It's like he's moving through syrup as he dips in leisurely and opens the slip with the flair of someone opening the mail.

"Linnet Jay!" He squeals out. "Do we have a Miss Linnet Jay among us?"

My limbs seem to freeze as I stand there, unable to take in the fact that the escort had picked me. _Me_.

What have I ever done to deserve this? It's my last year, I had been one Reaping away from never having to worry about the Games again, and the escort had picked me. All he had to do was shift his hand a little further to the left or the right to pick another slip, to save me from being Reaped, and he couldn't even manage that.

Why couldn't someone else had been picked?

Eliza nudges me and it's only then that I realise that I've been crushing her hand with my own, I've been clutching it that tightly.

My Games.

I'm not so sure how I feel about that.

I want nothing more than to shrink into myself as I feel the eyes of every person turn to me. Usually, it would be something I'd appreciate, having people pay the respect they should owe me without me prompting them to, but...but not in this way. I'm not supposed to _die_ and then become idolised; I'm meant to live, to represent someone that everyone should be like.

I deserve more than this.

It doesn't matter. The Capitol can't afford to show their bias for me, that's all. They've made it perfectly clear that everyone, regardless of status or loyalties, would have a fair chance of being Reaped. It's an equal, unbiased system, not like those rebels who would have rigged the Reapings every year so that only those loyal to the Capitol would have been punished.

Everybody has to sacrifice something in the name of a peaceful society and I have no right to shy away when it was my turn. I shouldn't be wishing this on anybody else here. I shouldn't be so selfish. Father would have said as much.

It's not only necessary to ensure everyone knows who I am. It's just part of my duty as a good citizen.


	4. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Since I'm cramming three Reapings into this chapter, this chapter is considerably longer than the other three have been. As a general note, I have 11 pre-Games chapters after this chapter as I'd like to expand on the tributes and (hopefully) make them distinct from each other before they start dying off.**

* * *

**Reapings - Part 4:**

**_Johan Hathaway (16), District 2 Male_**

Settling into the nearest chair, I pull out my notepad and a sharp pencil, ready to take notes. I'm one of the first ones here, so it takes a while for my instructors, Mrs Larson and Mr Stanton, to arrive. Mrs Larson's eyes narrow at the rest of us.

"Where's Alana?" Her eyes skewering the empty chair where Alana would usually be. The eerie quiet's a good enough clue that she's not present.

"Sleeping in," one of her friends decides to answer on Alana's behalf.

"Sleeping in? Alana feels it appropriate to skip Peacekeeper training in order to sleep in?" Mrs Larson snarls. "Such a slothful approach to these lessons is not desirable."

"No matter though," Mr Stanton says in a calmer - but no less authoritative - voice. "She'll either have to catch up or face being heinously unprepared for the trying life of a Peacekeeper. You have all been chosen for this honour of serving the Capitol in such a way; it is advisable that you do not waste this opportunity, unless you feel like spending the rest of your life sweating away in the stone mines."

Most of us grimace at this thought. I had been down in those mines a few times while with my school, and although I assume they're in good condition compared to District Twelve's coal mines, the prospect of spending my life in one doesn't appeal to me. Needless to say, I had been quick to accept this opportunity when I had been approached by Mr Stanton.

Any opportunity to escape the monotonous lives that the rest of District Two lead is not one I can afford to waste, especially not with the compromises we've had to endure to secure peace. During and after the Dark Days, most activities considered redundant and wasteful had been closed down; something that our victory over the rest of the districts hasn't changed. The majority of the places that had once been parks or the like had been hastily converted into factories or had been so heavily mined for stone that trying to play in those areas is as safe as playing football in a minefield.

It's a fair price to pay. It's not like those things really mattered, not to me, anyway. Why would I waste time with games when I've yet to prove myself to the Capitol of my worth? I can't afford to lose the advantage I have over the others by becoming distracted with such trivialities.

Sometimes, it feels like the other Peacekeepers-in-training don't even realise how lucky they are. In a district where everything comes back to stone mining, these classes - which are typically set before a regular school day - are like a breath of fresh air. I would have never realised how ill-prepared the rebels had been, nor pick out the flaws in their ideology, if I hadn't been chosen for this opportunity.

"However," Mrs Larson continues. "We have, yet again, managed to secure military-standard batons used by our Peacekeepers." At this, I smile as the rest of the class cheer. Some may rejoice at this if using weapons is still a novelty to them, seeing as they had only been introduced a few months ago, but all I can think of when I see the batons behind her is how this will make me stand hand-and-shoulders above the inferior masses when I gain mastery over it. "As you all know, these weapons are an effective way of enforcing the peace we seek to maintain while not resorting to lethal measures. Simply executing everyone who disturbs the peace is an inefficient, barbaric way of enforcing authority and becoming a Peacekeeper does not involve acting like a lesser animal."

"Excuse me, Mrs Larson?" Alexandria, a fellow classmate, manages to sneer out Mrs Larson's name from a few seats away from me. Although she is Mrs Larson's daughter, Alexandria doesn't see this as reason enough to even treat her mother with respect. "But didn't the Peacekeepers have orders to shoot anyone on sight if they wandered out of their homes during the rebellion? That doesn't sound very civil to me."

"There were strict orders to stay indoors that was broadcasted to everyone," Mrs Larson replies curtly, frowning at her daughter's rudeness. "There was no reason that anyone who wasn't working for the rebels wouldn't have received the message, neither would they have any need to break the rules. It's better to exercise caution than allow a rebel to get away and potentially compromise your safety."

"It's better to exercise your ability to be needlessly brutal, she means," I overhear Alexandria mutter to the boy next to her, Fennec, who sniggers while I sigh. It's a good thing that those two annoying thirteen year old kids are this rude about everything else. If people get the impression that either one of them are planning any form of treason against the Capitol, they really would be in trouble. I'd be the first to make sure of that.

Mrs Larson raises one of the batons, successfully silencing the duo. There's a small handle attached to it that I know is useful for maintaining a strong grip on the weapon. "Mr Stanton and I will be critiquing you today, so don't hold back."

It's not surprising how quickly everyone stands up to grab a baton and attack the dummies. After everything the other districts had subjected us to, the ways they had forced District Two to crack down on what we can do for our safety, the dummies made convenient targets for most of us to vent out on, even if there's a fair amount of fighting among the Peacekeepers-in-training. Not that I differ in this respect; there's something thrilling about being in a fight, although I don't participate in many unless I get something more out of it than an adrenaline rush.

Gripping the baton's handle, I walk over to the nearest dummy and prepare to strike its head. My grip on the handle relaxes slightly, allowing the handle to pivot so that the full length of the baton is smashed into the dummy. I allow myself to nod approvingly when I see that I've managed to make a large dent. If this dummy's supposed to replicate a human, then that blow would have definitely incapacitated an attacker.

The whistling of an object moving through the air alerts me to danger and I duck in time to avoid the baton that swishes through the air where I had been seconds ago. There's the thud of the baton hitting the dummy, but when my assailant doesn't try it again, I hesitantly get back up to face Fennec, who's smirking at me.

"You should probably stay down there like a good little boy."

Ignoring this jibe, my eyes flicker over to the dummy that Fennec had evidently been trying to attack in order to show off. He's barely scratched the cotton; something he notices.

"I can do way better than that. You were just in the way," Fennec defends himself. "You're just lucky you're not one of those homeless vermin on the streets or lower-district trash, else I'd be out to break your jaw with this." He swings around his baton, although since he's picked a baton that is about the size of his leg, he ends up accidentally hitting himself with the baton instead. Fennec scowls as a wry smile curves up my lips despite my best intentions.

"Yes, you look like you could do a lot of damage there," I remark. "To yourself. Maybe pick one that isn't half your size?"

There's an excited gleam in Fennec's blue eyes and I realise that he's sensed an opportunity as he moves closer to me with a mean smile on his lips. "You're doubting me?"

"I was merely suggesting an option that seemed more practical for you," I deadpan.

"Oh, so you now know what option's best for me, huh?" Fennec raises his baton in front of him and I tense up. It's true that I've been in the occasional fight, but they hadn't involved weapons. However, I don't flinch, figuring that even Fennec - cocky as he is - wouldn't risk punishment by directly striking me with a baton.

"Are you an idiot?" I've never been more glad to hear the monotone voice of Alexandria in my life as she walks over to stand next to Fennec. "Trying to rub people up the wrong way just because they actually demonstrated a little something called common sense; something he clearly has more of than you."

He sniffs, offended by her words. "Don't even try and compare me to _Johan Hathaway_," he makes my name sound like the ultimate insult, which it might be to him. "It's obvious that I'm better than him."

"You're right. You _are_ superior to Johan," Alex replies with a a sickeningly sweet voice and an empty smile, patting Fennec on the back like a dog before her voice turns icy. "At being a complete moron, that is."

Fennec turns to glare at her. "Shut up, Alex. This is serious. Nobody's going to respect me as a Peacekeeper if people think he's better than me."

"Oh boo hoo, lighten up already." Alex sighs. "I don't know what it is, but you're acting like more of an asshole than usual. He's not worth it."

"It could be the possibility of being Reaped today," I interject.

Fennec scoffs at this, but it's obvious that he's no longer interested in me as he brags to Alexandria. His need to defend his pride overwhelms his aggression any day. "Are you kidding me? The Games have nothing on me. Bet I could win them easily."

"Yeah right. You're thirteen; you'd be squished like a bug." They continue to bicker as they move away from me, but I don't spare this a second thought as I turn back to continue with the task. Now is not the time to be fettered by Fennec's aggressive nature or pettiness, not when this time has been allocated for working.

Later, I may allow myself to indulge in trivialities such as small talk, but this time has been specifically reserved for training and I don't intend on wasting it.

"You never struck me as the kind who ever needed to mess around." I almost jump at the sound of my instructor's voice, but manage to face him with my best attempt at a neutral expression.

"You still don't."

"Children always get distracted when they encounter something they can't achieve," he continues as if I had said nothing. "I sincerely hope that doesn't apply to you as well." Mr Stanton places his hand on the dummy's 'shoulder', surveying it with a frown. "I had better things in mind for you than this, Hathaway."

I don't reply, knowing not to waste my time with excuses when the only thing that matters is the result. He gestures to a fresh dummy and obligingly, I raise the baton and smash it into the dummy. There's a sizeable dent that's a clear improvement over my last attempt. I turn to Mr Stanton for approval, but he doesn't even give me a second glance as he walks over to a new dummy.

"Again."

This time, the shudder that goes through the dummy can be heard by the other trainees as several of them turn around to see what had caused the commotion. Automatically, my mouth curves upwards in a small smile, trying to look self-assured when really, I'm just satisfied that I've made progress.

"Went a bit overboard there," Felix calls out, grinning at the caved-in dummy. "Can't do that to a real person - "

"A real person?" Fennec scoffs. "You call those in districts like Seven or Eleven _real_ people?"

"I hope the reason you're messing around is because you've mastered this technique." Mr Stanton effectively derails the budding conversation with this before he turns back to me. I await a rebuke, but instead, he pats me on the back. "Excellent work there, Hathaway. I see you achieving great things if you keep this up."

"Not to question you, sir, but surely that would be lethal to someone?"

He smiles. "Indeed it would. The trick is to know the right amount of force to deliver a blow to knock them out without killing them or causing severe brain injury." I tense up slightly, waiting for him to chastise me for using too much force, but it never comes. "There's a lot of opportunities coming up where this will be useful, Hathaway. I hope you're aware of this."

I don't even hesitate. "If it assists the Capitol, I'll do it."

* * *

We don't have enough time to clean up afterwards, something that seems to bothers the other Peacekeepers-in-training if the grumbles I can hear are any indicator. Apparently, the possibility of being coated in fresh sweat for half an hour before washing it off is too much for them to handle.

It just makes me wonder how they ever think they'll cope with everything else that serving this country entails if they can't even manage that simple feat. My strides increase in length as the town square approaches. My eyes scan over the crowds that are waving banners around, as if they think that's all they need to do to show their appreciation for the Capitol. How many of them are really making an effort to make sure the rest of the districts are in no position to destroy Panem again?

They realise that the slaughtering of two teenagers is infinitely superior an option to countless deaths and suffering for those remaining, I can say that much.

Reaching the sign-in table long before the others, I make my way over to my assigned area and wait patiently as the Treaty is read out. Although I can't say that it's the most interesting legislation to be read out, it serves as a necessary reminder to the rest of my district just what all of our efforts are for. Some of us clearly need it.

Being taller than the average sixteen-year-old, I have no difficulty looking over at where the girls are, assessing their reactions. The tall, skinny girl casually sweeping her hair over her face clearly isn't ready for the attention, nor is the dark-haired, freckled girl that's tugging her clothing to conceal as much of her body as possible. I frown at such blatant signs of nervousness that spoils the festive atmosphere the flags and banners provide. How inconsiderate of them.

"For our female tribute, can Knox Easton make her way to the stage, please?" Our escort calls out, much to my surprise. Knox happens to be another Peacekeeper recruit in my class, not a very pleasant one either. I'm sure she had been chosen for training because of her unflinching faith in District Two's honour; anyone who suggests that another district is better than Two in any way would quickly become her worst enemy.

There's a smirk on her lips as she strides up to the stage, looking a lot older than the fifteen years I know she is, although I notice how she's dragging her feet against the ground. I suppose that pretending to be happy with being Reaped isn't the worst idea for gaining sponsors, so I can't fault her there. The fact that she seems to be trying to laugh about it is melodramatic, but if she feels that it hides whatever she's really feeling about the Reaping, then it's not the worst approach.

She crosses the line into overkill when she snatches the microphone from the escort and opens her mouth, "Thank you, thank you, District Two." Knox speaks in a deliberately haughty and obnoxious way. "For this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to prove how ready I am to show my dedication towards serving this nation." She gives a sloppy-looking salute towards the cameras with her left hand when she's done, a grin present on her lips. I have to roll my eyes at this. If she really is keen to prove this, she wouldn't feel obliged to make a scene out of it.

And if Knox really knows what she's doing, she would have conveyed that impression enough just from the way she holds herself. She shouldn't show any sign of weakness because if she's really worth the time put into her to make her competent, Knox would have prepared herself for this very possibility. There's no excuse.

"For our male tribute." In a perfect example of bad form, the escort unfolds the slip whilst announcing the name. "Do we have a Johan Hathaway?"

_What?_ It's the only word that comes to mind when I heard my name called out for everyone to hear. A second later, it hits me full-force: I've been picked.

I run a hand through my hair awkwardly and my fingers come away covered in sweat, reminding me of my shabby appearance. A shower would have gone a long way to help improve the first impressions that everyone would get from me. They might consider me as disreputable as Aeneas, a good-for-nothing rebel with no true regard for the welfare of this country.

_I didn't deserve to be here, especially not when I had been capable of so much_. I catch my use of the past tense and I'm quick to dismiss these thoughts as I start advancing forward. Holding such a defeatist attitude isn't productive to my survival.

It doesn't matter, it really shouldn't. I'm still serving Panem by entering, just in a slightly different way. Before, I had been fighting to maintain the peace and it seems that some of the other districts need the reminder.

Now, I plan on proving why that peace is needed.

* * *

**_Fern Matara (18), District 1 Female_**

"Oh, why did you have to go and ruin everything?"

I can hear Mother sigh. "I told you that I was making the right decision, Lloyd. You just had to be stubborn, didn't you?"

"Stubborn? I was fighting for a good cause!" Father shoots back, his voice considerably lower than Mother's in case any of our neighbours were eavesdropping on this argument. I know that the walls between their room and mine are thin enough to hear practically every word. "That has to count for something!"

"It'll count for our deaths if anyone finds out. You're the exact type of person I should be reporting on!" she hisses, sounding irritated. I lean in to try and pick up on this; this is the closest that either of my parents had came to showing real emotion in a while. They had always seemed so stoic before the war had started.

"Well, are you going to do that then?" Father challenges. "Is that how blind you are to the Capitol? You mean nothing to them, Lydia. Nothing. And yet you still want to sacrifice everything to help them?"

"It's the only way to get by in Panem, you must know that," Mother implores. "It's not like it was before the districts existed. Just forget about it and make do with what we have."

Father just scoffs at this. "Only a weak-minded fool would think that's a good idea. If we all think like that, nothing will ever change. We'll always be considered second-rate, we'll never have a say in anything. That's the way you want things to be?"

"It's better than opposing them. You've seen what they do to anyone who speaks out. Honestly, you were part of the rebellion that happened, what, three years ago?" Her voice turns sharp. "You know this; you _joined_ me when you realised the mistake you made, Lloyd."

I sigh as I push back from leaning against the wall. If their argument escalated like this, we would all end up in trouble. Despite all the dogma we've been force-fed us with once we had lost, tensions still run high between the citizens.

The region that we live in is among one of the most elite; many of the prolific Capitol supporters had been relocated here. That only makes this area a target for any of the more rabid rebels that still exist. I'm not gormless enough to believe the lies that the Capitol had said about us getting special treatment; it's not hard to see that making every pro-Capitol citizen in the districts a scapegoat for the rebels to take out their anger on distracts those same people from lashing out at the true villain.

The sound of floorboards creaking in protest alerts me to the fact that one of my parents is coming towards my room. Swiftly, I run over and worm my way back into bed.

The door is slammed open with no regards for subtlety and I have to tense up in order to not react to this too much. It's Father; Mother has always valued manners. She would never slam a door like that, regardless of her mood.

A slap to the face brings me back to reality and I automatically flinch away from the sensation. "Wake up."

Father looms over me, any vestiges of emotion having disappeared by the time my bleary eyes have focused on him. "It's almost half past eight, Fern. If you don't hurry, we'll be late for the Reapings."

"I do apologise for being woken up approximately ninety minutes beforehand," I respond. "It is, indeed, incredibly sloppy of me."

He purses his lips together into a thin, bloodless line, "You should be. I do hope you realise how inconvenient it is to have to hurry in order to compensate for your laziness. No daughter of mine should be wasting their life in bed. You should appreciate how lucky you are to still be alive compared to the thousands who died."

"Who says that I'm not?"

"I do. Right now, I'm saying that you're not making the most of this privilege." He coughs suddenly. "In any case, you need to get dressed for the Reaping today. It's imperative that you are dressed appropriately for your class, Fern."

"Of course, Father."

He nods approvingly at me - a rare thing - before departing, leaving me with the company of my own thoughts. I scowl at his back as he retreats; why does he act so stiffly towards me? I'm not asking him to be overly confidential, but he doesn't even seem to feel affection towards me.

_Don't focus on something so petty as how you feel about him_, I have to tell myself. I have no right to feel affronted by his abrasive attitude. It's selfish for me to do so when two other children have far superior reasons for feeling the same way. I, on the other hand, would only have to fret over the Reaping one more time.

Quickly slipping into a modest blue dress and the most comfortable pair of high heels I can find, I glance at myself one last time in the mirror, making sure that there's nothing for Mother to fault about my brown curls or my pale skin. My eyes flitter down to my chest, where the slightest curve of my breast is visible.

_You're not leaving this house looking like a slut! You're representing the Mataras here, Fern._

_Do you want men to see you as nothing more than their next conquest? You'll never find someone worthy of your class acting like that._

With years of Mother's remarks ringing in my head, I put on a flimsy cardigan. Feeling more comfortable now that less of me is on show, I take great care with leaving my room, making sure that my steps are evenly paced, that my back is straight and that my eyes never flicker down to the floor, lest anyone take this as a sign of submissiveness.

Once I've finished descending the stairs to the second floor, I rap on the door three times. As I've come to expect, Mother calmly opens the door, eyes taking note of my every detail. My lips curve up into a smile, as is considered polite, and she finally leaves the room without further comment.

Remembering all of this about my appearance is quite taxing, to say the least.

Will anyone really care today? It's not like people are incisive or perceptive at the best of times, so why would the Reaping be any exception? Humans are generally short-sighted and quick to let their prejudices overwhelm logic. I would know from the numerous times that I've been judged because of what the rebels consider my family's 'betrayal'. Apparently, loyalties always have to run in the family, or so goes the logic that everybody uses to condemn me.

No, it doesn't matter an ounce that both sides had succumbed to human weaknesses. The first few bands of rebels had been more violent and cruel than the Capitol, although it doesn't justify the Capitol's retaliation either. Trying to make one side out to be superior to the other is an exercise in futility.

Neither side will ever truly succeed. As long as they keep thinking that they can just sideline the consequences of their actions and actually "justify" them, they're doomed to making the same mistakes as every other human - including myself - has done in the past.

"Fern, do be careful." My mother says in her usual flat monotone as we pass through the front door. "I do hear that a riot is planned around this area, if my sources are anything to go by." I can recite her next words by heart. "I wouldn't advise for you to be seen outside."

It's a warning that I've heard too many times, the effect of it having worn out over the years. But while those words no longer hold the same punch of fear, that doesn't mean that I'm juvenile enough to go against them. The daughter of two Capitol informants would not hold much favour with District One. I can still remember the death threats I had received on the streets, the way people had been more prone to snapping at and trying to attack me.

All of that had just been to the relatively blameless daughter of the people they claim to despise. Is it really surprising that I don't feel compelled to align myself with a large group of people that all condone this...unnecessary behaviour? Large groups of creatures like us are just asking for trouble, anybody can see that by the sheep mentality that the weaker members adopt and the violence that follows. The prospect of being in a similar situation at the Reaping is not one that I'm thrilled about. "I will keep this in mind when making plans tomorrow, Mother."

Mother places a hand on my shoulder, all but digging her nails there. "I'm not requesting that you consider this, Fern. I'm informing you that you will not be permitted to go outside tomorrow. It's for your own safety." She smiles at me. "There's no shortage of those history books you like reading so much in the library."

I don't feel it worthwhile to inform her that I had lost interest in the painfully biased recounts of the Dark Days a while back. Mother could care less; she still sees me as a child that can be sidetracked by some pretty little item. She doesn't realise that I had lost my admiration for her the moment she had slipped up during the Dark Days, when she had shown herself to be as selfish and hypocritical and shallow as everyone else.

"Of course, Mother. I was not questioning the wisdom of such a decision."

"That's good to hear." Her hand slips off me and I exhale. "In fact, it would be preferable if you make no haste in retiring to our quarters after the proceedings."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to get hurt now, would we?" Someone sneers at us before I can answer. Looking around, I can see a small group of boys leering at us. Some of them have their eyes trained on me, the unpleasant gleam in their eyes warning me as to their less-than-virtuous intentions.

My mother seems aware of this as she advances on them. "If any one of you filthy vermin touch my daughter, I'll personally organise the firing squad."

"Ooh, feisty." One boy says, daring to take a couple more steps towards me. "Who says we weren't trying to help you out?"

"Can't a gentleman escort a fair lady to the Reaping that she helped create?"

"Wouldn't want her to miss out on the fruits of her labour, am I right?"

Their voices grow more bitter as they yell out more accusations and I feel the need to intervene. "I suppose arguing about this is a far better option than attending these mandatory Reapings, I take it? I would hate for the Peacekeepers to get the wrong message about doing such a thing."

"Your wish is my command, my fair lady." The first boy pretends to bow in my presence, failing to acknowledge my subtle warning about insulting the Capitol. "It would be tragic if Miss Matara Junior ever had to suffer through anything as inconvenient as that."

I give them a tight-lipped smile as I take Mother's hand and walk off, head held high. "Thank you ever so much for your consideration."

It's almost a relief to see an overabundance of Peacekeepers around the town square as we continue down the road. My heart seems to kick frantically in my chest as I take in the huge numbers of people around. Reluctantly detaching myself from the one reliable source of protection I have, as if I am still a child who needs to be reassured, I join the queue. It's blindingly obvious to anyone with common sense that I'm deliberately ignoring the odd looks and occasional snide remark as I stare straight ahead, biting my lip until I realise how badly that would reflect on the Matara family if I look nervous.

_Focus on looking proper. Head high, no fidgeting, just appear composed_. I adjust my position in accordance with these rules, making sure I'm not giving away my fear as I extend my hand. The small bead of blood that wells up on my finger is enough for my feigned confidence to falter for a second, but the moment I close my palm to hide it, the feeling passes.

"Fern! Fern! Oh my gosh, I am so happy to see you!"

Before I even have time to find a comfortable spot in the pen, I'm squashed in a hug and a suffocating cloud of perfume as Clarity latches herself onto the nearest person that she recognises; me. Clarity isn't one of my closest friends - in fact, I can barely stand her company - but she bothers me when none of her other friends are around. It's not as if she's subtle about this either, but Clarity's under the illusion that I adore her presence and that she can order me around on a whim. "Oh, I have _missed_ you so much! We haven't spoken in _ages_!"

She pulls back and grins at me with perfect white teeth. Her lips are coated in lipstick that's a tacky shade of red and her freckles are completely obscured by the layers of powder she wears. Add this to the vacant blue eyes that are unmistakably Clarity's - and any other bimbo you can find on the streets - and there's a huge resemblance to a mannequin. "You really should stop killing your face with makeup."

Clarity puckers her lips at me in a frown. "Darling, don't be so pessimistic. I know it's Reaping Day again - "

"I'm not being pessimistic, I'm being honest," I deadpan. "You're an idiot, thinking that makeup actually helps you. It's not just pointless, it makes you look like a whore. Have you no class?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a 'whore', as you put it." Clarity sniffs. "Why are you so judgmental? No wonder nobody wants to hang out with you!"

"I prefer being independent to associated myself with the asinine masses that are spoon-fed everything they know," I reply evenly.

"You're a snob," Clarity states in one of her moments of 'biting' honesty that contrasts to her typical air-headed attitude. "And why do you even speak like that anyway? Nobody knows what 'asinine' means, you know."

"Nobody uneducated knows what it means," I point out with a meaningful look in her direction. However, the escort has finally taken to the stage, silencing the crowds of teenagers who don't know when to keep quiet about it when it's necessary.

"Now we shall discover who our new female tribute is." The escort announces with no inflection in his tone. I hate the way that he said 'female' instead of 'girl', as if he's trying to detach himself from the fact that we're also people.

Clarity digs her fingernails into me, muttering over and over again, "please, not me or anyone I know. Please no."

"Clarity, you shouldn't say that!" I whisper harshly as I yank my hand free, my nerves making me short-tempered and irritable. "Are you saying that it's acceptable for someone you _don't_ know to be picked?"

"Stop being such a bitch," she grumbles, disregarding my question. The stupid girl might as well have been honest; it would have made me respect her for being truthful, at least.

"A simple yes would have done," I reprimand as I turn my attention back to the escort.

"Fern Matara."

A sharp intake of breath is the only visible reaction I make, but it's enough to draw Clarity's attention so that she flinches away from me as if I'm infected, an almost comical look of shock on her face. "Oh, that's you Fern, it's you, it's _you_!"

Her words wash over me like rain as I stare at the ground, numb. It can't have been my name chosen; it's my last year. I had been one Reaping away from never having to worry about being chosen again and it hadn't mattered.

My feet stumble in one direction, away from the stage looming over me, taunting me with how insignificant I am. And I am, I am. I won't mean anything, they'll just have another girl next year in my shoes, and I can't escape, there's no escape for me.

I automatically yell as I feel my body being dragged back, my legs briefly scraping the concrete and ripping through skin. I can feel the way the skin tugs as it's torn off, but my body will no longer respond to the stinging pain this brings. My limbs kick out sporadically, sensing danger from all around, but when I actually hit something, vice-like grips on my legs and arms eventually render me as restricted as a puppet.

_Puppet...just like Mother and I. She wouldn't do this. Aren't you just an extension of her? You're letting your family down, trying to ward off the inevitable._

The thought of Mother's cold, disapproving eyes saps the last of my strength and I stop struggling, allowing the Peacekeepers to haul me to the stage by both arms like a fallen angel. I can't bear to look up, certain that everybody would be looking at me with disapproval, so I keep my head bowed as I get to my feet. The world seems to teeter and I'm quick to cling onto the sides of the podium with sweaty fingers, hunching over it as I try and refrain from hyperventilating.

_I've...I've been Reaped. I'm never going to come back, never see my family. I can't die...I'm never going to grow up, but I'll die anyway...I shouldn't even try...never going to succeed. Why should I try?_

One hand presses against my forehead in a futile attempt at containing these thoughts. I shouldn't worry about what I'll do now. Just as long as I cling onto this podium and stay standing, everything else can wait. Wait? I can't even afford to waste my time like that anymore - I'm going to die within a matter of days.

The creaking of the stage reminds me that someone else has arrived, someone else who'll be sharing my fate. Glancing to the side, I can just about make out a boy with messy blond hair and fathomless brown eyes. They seemed to pierce straight through me, accusing me of what's just happened to him. _I don't even know your name._

Hesitantly, as I've always seen Mother do when meeting someone, I outstretch my hand. He just looks at me like I'm to blame for everything, and I'm quick to withdraw it to the sound of a few citizens sniggering.

Is this really happening to me? I can't really be up on this stage, being humiliated like this. It has to be a nightmare, it's just not possible for my life to turn upside-down this fast.

This can't be real.

* * *

**_Addison West (12), District 6 Male_**

"Are you ready yet?"

Stifling a yawn, I call back, "be there in a minute."

Ariana sighs. "That's an awfully odd definition of 'a minute', seeing as it's been twenty-five minutes since I asked you to get up."

"Just give me five more. I swear I'll be ready then." I'm not even sure if she heard me this time as a yawn interrupts me halfway through. Shoving the pillow over my head, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to actually get some sleep before I have to go outside.

However, Ariana is having none of this as the door bursts open and she effortlessly yanks the pillow away from me. "It's half eleven. We're going to be late if you don't get a move on."

"Do I have to?"

She nods. "It's your first Reaping. You can't just skip it."

I grimace. Last year had been nerve-wracking enough and I hadn't even been eligible then. The fact that I had been surrounded by so many people all jostling into me and fuelling my fears with their jumpy mannerisms and anxious whispers had put me so on edge that when the name of the first tribute had been called, I had promptly burst into tears.

One year on and I still haven't lived that down.

This year would be even worse; it's actually possible for me to be Reaped! I'd be completely surrounded by people in the same boat who would be just as skittish as me.

Ariana's severe expression wavers as she realises my fears. "Nothing like that's going to happen to you again. They're just putting you into age groups to see who's eligible, that's all."

"You don't know that." I protest, my high-pitched wail giving me away. "You - you have no idea what they'll do."

"It's not a protest. We've learned from last year, I'm sure." Ariana's voice is tragically lacking in the passion needed to make her words convincing. Shaking her head frantically, she continues. "It'll be for half an hour at most, okay Addison? Just trust me when I say that nothing bad's going to happen to you. You have one slip. One!"

There hadn't been any twelve year old tributes in the only other Games we had, so this I can believe. "But what about the two children chosen today?"

"That's up to their families," she replies firmly before she frowns sadly. "Yes, it's a horrible thing that I wouldn't wish on anyone, but you can't involve yourself too deeply in their affairs. I'm sure they'll be needing the time to grieve." Her voice hardens. "And it certainly won't do to get angry over it."

Any chance she had of calming me down have been shattered with those words, but Ariana seems oblivious to this as she wonders off, muttering to herself. She almost bumps into someone on the way out and my heart sinks as I see my older sister, Sebastianne, enter.

"Scared for the Reaping?" She grins, bearing her teeth. "I can just see your tiny little heart thudding like crazy."

"Aren't you? It could be you up on that stage." I don't meet her eyes. "You're fifteen."

"No shit, really?" Sebastianne rolls her eyes. "Why should I be scared of something that's going to happen to everyone anyway?"

"Survival instinct?" I offer up.

"'Survival instinct' my ass. You seriously expect me to believe that you pissing yourself's going to beat me when it comes to fighting for your life?" She makes out like she's going to tackle me and I flinch.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need to man up, Addison," she says. "All you do is laze around and stink up the place, then have a panic attack the moment you have to - shock horror - go outside! Please, get over yourself."

This is enough for me to actually sit up straight. "Hey, I'm not that lazy - "

"Oh yeah? Tell me what you've been doing for the past four days then."

I tilt my head to the side slightly as I try to pick out anything memorable, but all the time I've spent on the couch downstairs tinkering away with the scrap parts Ariana found at her workplace just seem to merge into one blur. "Tinkering."

Sebastianne doesn't let this slide. "By that, you mean that you're making Ariana stick her neck out just so you can waste the stuff she steals on 'tinkering', right? Because that's all you do; let us work ourselves to death while you get to sit around and take, take, take." She narrows her eyes at me. "Get the fuck out of bed and grow a pair already."

The look she gives me tells me that she has no intention of leaving until I'm ready. "Can I at least have some privacy?"

This elicits another scornful huff from my sister. "Again, I say 'grow up', Addison. I already know there's nothing to see."

Scowling, I grab the nearest top and pair of jeans that are on top of the mountain of clothes by the end of my bed before stuffing them underneath the covers and quickly taking off my pyjamas that way. By the time she's cottoned onto what I'm doing and goes to pull off the quilt, I've managed to put on my jeans. I stick my tongue out at her in spite of everything.

"You're just jealous you didn't think of that plan."

"...I'm not even going to dignify that with a decent response."

"You just did." Slipping on my top, I try and push Sebastianne out of the way in order to run down the stairs first, but she just wraps her arm around me and forces me downstairs in a headlock, rubbing the top of my head hard when we reach the bottom. "Careful! It takes work to look this great!"

I don't need to look in a mirror to know that Sebastianne's thoughts on my appearance are far from flattering. "Don't be a dweeb. You'll be on camera soon."

As she links her arm with mine, my stomach rumbles loudly. "Whoa, wait! We're not having breakfast?"

"You decided that napping was a better option. Hope it's worth it!" She laughs as she reaches into her pocket and retrieves a small packet of oat biscuits, sneering when I try and snatch them with my free hand. "Ariana's already left."

Knowing that prolonged exposure to Sebastianne would not end well for me, that provides me with the motivation to get through the door and into the wide open world I'm not so accustomed to. Compared to the relative calm and quiet of my own room, the wind pushing me and the inescapable hum of civilisation are about as welcomed as a fog horn blasted in my ears.

It's only after I've walked far enough away from my sister - tiring myself out considerably in the process - that I realise that now I have no one to talk to, nobody that would distract my thoughts from what might possibly happen to me. Even if Sebastianne's spiteful, she had still been company. She had been someone that willingly puts up with me.

It's not that I can't make friends; I just think it's a lot of effort to arrange to meet up with them just so I can do stuff I can easily do in the comfort of my own house. Ariana and Sebastianne love me, even if the latter has a funny way of showing it, and that's what's really important, really.

"Hey, Addison!" I jump as I realise someone actually feels like my existence is worth enough to warrant a greeting. "You're not doing anything, right?"

I hear one of my old friends, Anita, laugh as she immediately veers away from wherever she had initially been travelling to head towards me, holding some paper in her hand.

It's times like these where I feel a pang of guilt for neglecting some of my friends like this. Me and Anita rarely talk to each other, seeing as she has such a busy schedule, and it figures that on one of the few times that she's free to hang out with me, I'm not free either. Callum had already said he wanted to come over after the Reapings and the two of them get along about as well as water and oil merge together. "It's great to see you, but I really do need to help sort out - "

"You can do that later." Anita brushes off my concerns with a wave of her hand. "Merryn is way too busy looking after her younger siblings and Felicia has to help the mayor sort out all that boring stuff for the Reaping, so you cannot leave me alone, okay? I repeat, you can not force me to associate myself with any of those peasants."

"Urm, okay, that's fine." I try and get a word in, but Anita continues to talk over me. That's okay though; she just has a lot to say to me to make up for the fact that we haven't spoken to each other in a few weeks.

"School has been so boring lately and my teachers give me way too much homework! How do they expect me to have a social life if I'm spending all of my time doing that?" Anita complains. "And what with all the work I have to do, I could really appreciate someone who could help me out a bit."

She then makes eye contact with me, widening her eyes slightly, and the realisation hits me. "Oh, you want me to do your homework?" Anita nods, a winning smile on her face, "I would love to help out, but I'm busy as well - "

"Doing what? Hanging out with your imaginary friends?" Anita interrupts spitefully, her words a stark reminder of the fact that I only have one other friend aside from Anita. In a more gentle tone, she continues, "I'm sorry, that's mean. But come on, Addison, I haven't seen Merryn in almost two days because she's so busy. I'll never see her otherwise. We're supposed to be sleeping over at my house later on, and it'll all be ruined if I still have homework to do."

"But we haven't seen each other in almost a month," I point out timidly.

Ignoring me, Anita continues to plead her case. "Please? For a friend?"

Those words serve to make me feel even worse. We're supposed to be friends and I had been caught up with tinkering with Callum. Maybe this can be my way of redeeming myself just a little bit. Sebastianne won't call me lazy if I help someone else with their work, she can't. "Okay, sure."

Anita gives me a brief hug, shoving the work in my hands as she does so. "Thanks Addison, you've saved me so much time." Her eyes then focus on something behind me and she immediately backs away from me. "Great! Felicia's here. I got to go now, Addison, so bye!"

"Wait, we've only spoken for five minutes - " I protest, but she's gone before I can finish my sentence. I can't complain though; she just has important things to do with Felicia and when she's done, she'll definitely want to hang around me.

"I'm glad she's gone. You should probably burn that." A voice from behind me speaks, startling me enough that I jump and drop Anita's uncompleted homework. I watch in dismay as it falls onto some mud.

"Oh, look what you've made me done. Anita's going to kill me for that. What am I supposed to say to her now?"

Callum, the only friend I had aside from Anita, scoffs. "Tell her that you're not her slave and to do her own damn work next time. You shouldn't be doing her homework anyway."

"But we're friends," I reply. "And she's really busy, so why wouldn't she rely on me to help her out?"

"How can you not tell? She's just using you," he says bluntly. "Anita only talks to you when she wants something. Just look at how quickly she left you once her real friends came along."

"Well, they're Anita's best friends, aren't they? Why wouldn't she want to spend more time with them?" I defend Anita hotly. "Just because you don't like her, it doesn't mean I can't be friends with her."

Callum scowls at me. "At least I don't talk about how pathetic I think you are behind your back, or ask you to do things for me just so I can laugh at how gullible you are afterwards. If that's your definition of a friend, I'd hate to see your enemies."

"Anita wouldn't do any of those things," I say stubbornly, watching Callum's eyebrows rise in disbelief. "She's a good person. You're just judging her too quickly, that's all."

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say," Callum rolls his eyes. "I was going to invite you to see my latest creation after the Reaping, but since you're too busy helping that ungrateful cow..."

"No, I'd love to see that!" I exclaim. He's a really good inventor whenever he has the spare time. If it hadn't been for Callum, I would have never considered taking up tinkering in the first place.

He smiles at me, although it doesn't reach his eyes. "Gotta get past those Reapings first. Come on."

Happy to follow this simple instruction, I start to walk directly behind Callum, placing my feet in the footprints he leaves behind. It's always amused me - albeit in a childish way - to literally follow behind in someone else's footsteps, no matter how silly the habit is now that I'm twelve.

It means that nobody gives me a second glance as we sign in. Even if I'm actually like, two inches taller than Callum and neither of us are muscular, nobody would single us out as weak if we stay together. It's this reasoning that means I stay as close as possible to the middle of the pen. If I don't look up, I can almost imagine that I blend in with the crowd, that nobody will ever notice me no matter what I do.

I can hear the microphone being tapped, the static crackling through the air like lightning, but the escort coughs politely before the mayor can say anything. "That won't be necessary this year, madam. I think we all understood the Treaty from last year," the escort chirps, more interested in cutting to the chase. "Now, onto the girls first!"

Callum makes a face at this, but says nothing as she skips over to the Reaping bowl and daintily takes out a slip. "Stella Devan!"

I look up just in time to see a tall, willowy girl walking out, tossing her distinctive ginger-red hair behind her as she strolls over to the stage. I'm surprised to see that she looks bored. If I'm picked, there's no way that I'd be able to hold it together as well as Stella. Her dark brown eyes keep darting around, possibly to find her family, but aside from that, she seems okay with this.

I don't recognise her last name as one that's associated with any rebel leaders, so it doesn't seem like she's been chosen for that particular reason. Stella doesn't seem to be anyone that you'd worry about; she's just an ordinary girl that's going to die for a rebellion she might not even have been that involved in.

Why does she have to die for it?

It makes a little bit of sense if the Capitol want to punish those that are heavily influencing the rebellion, and maybe their children too, but hurting ordinary citizens doesn't make any sense. You're just needlessly killing two children a year that had done nothing treasonous. Why would you think that's a good idea?

The sound of feet scraping gravel reaches my ears as she stumbles a few times on her way to the stage, but aside from a slight blush to her cheeks, Stella manages to retain most of her composure. The escort shakes her hand enthusiastically, ignoring Stella's awkward disposition, before trotting over to the male bowl and unfolds a slip from there.

"Addison West."

Everything seems to slow down as soon as the escort has finished spitting out the T in my last name, and I'm frozen as I try and understand what has just been said, how my life had suddenly turned upside-down in the space of a few seconds. Not only that, but my death sentence has been confirmed by the picking of a slip. Such a tiny, insignificant thing has managed to wreck havoc on my life, as if it's a turning point in one of my dreams before it devolves into a nightmare.

Vaguely, I realise that everyone has stepped away from me, making an awkward circle that gave away my location. Even Callum has backed away a little bit, his eyes looking at me with an expression that I've never seen on him before; pity. That's when I truly realise how dire my situation is.

Tentatively, I move one leg forward, surprised at how easily it obeys me despite how numb my entire body feels. Pressing weight down on it, I slowly move the other foot forwards, barely moving a few inches before the world starts to swoop around me. My brain feels like it was swimming, as if I have a fever, and all my thoughts keep colliding into one another.

Reaped, I've been...Reaped. I'm never coming back home...I'm never going back, I'm dead. I'm already doomed.

"Addison?" Callum's voice seems to echo in my head, like he's shouting at me from down a tunnel. Addison? Addison?

"Help me." I try and speak, but my mouth won't cooperate as my body suddenly gives out. The only sound that escapes my lips is the air being forced out of me as my body slams against the concrete. My vision blacks out for a second before silhouettes surround me, all looking unhappy. Why do they look like that?

Suddenly, strong hands grab me by the shoulders, hauling me to my knees, but I'm too far gone to respond as I fall into the darkness.


	5. Behind Bars

**Goodbyes  
**

**_Alaric Lyptus (14), District 7 Male_**

The moment that the cameras are no longer tracking my every movement, the civil manner of the Peacekeepers disappear as one grabs me by the arm and hauls me through the doors of the Justice Building, making sure that my grubby hands didn't leave smears on the pristine glass doors or the beige-coloured walls. I don't get much time to admire the room though as I'm pushed into the small waiting room where I would be spending my last hour in my district.

"You have three minutes." The Peacekeeper's voice is monotone, livened up only by a drawling accent that I can't place. I don't have enough time to think about this as my first visitor enters. The scowl on his face does little to improve my mood, but I force a smirk anyway, as if his irritation over his loss amuses me.

"I have no idea what you did," Mr Elway growls out as he throws me a small pouch of coins. "But I guess you win. Not bad for your first attempt, newbie."

"Thank you, thank you," I reply grandiosely as I catch the pouch mid-air, surprised that he's willing to return his side of the deal when I'm in no position to spend any of it. Then again, he does live down the street from where I did. Or maybe he just feels pity for me.

His lips twist into a frown for a second before he runs a hand through his hair, trying to brush any sentimental thoughts away. "Good luck, you."

"Thanks." I reply curtly, but if he hears me, he shows no sign of it as he departs.

The moment he opens the door, the Peacekeeper shoves Kiran through. "Next."

While Kiran isn't crying, there's a jittery air about him that manifests in the way he bobs around and anxiously shifts his weight from foot to foot. He gives me an awkward smile, a laugh escaping his lips as he does so. When I give him an odd look, he shrugs. "Sorry, aha, I'm just not sure what to say, yeah? I didn't expect you to be here. What are the odds, you know?"

"Must be something in the water, I suppose." I must look clownish to Kiran with my wide grin and poor attempts at a jovial tone, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Not that it matters," he says dismissively, before realising how that sounds. "I mean, like, that doesn't mean you won't come home."

"Doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's just a coincidence," he lies and I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. Does he really think so little of me that he thinks I'll fall for that? "Why wouldn't you win? You're really smart and the fastest kid in school. All of those older kids won't be able to get you."

His forced enthusiasm just grates on me. "That's not really the point though."

"Of course it is. What else could you need? You're Alaric Lyptus, remember?" Kiran says patronisingly, and I realise that he's not getting what winning these Games really entail. "Why are you even asking all of this? You'll try to come back, right? You ain't gonna give up or anything, right?"

For a moment, I almost allow myself to be caught up in the encouragement Kiran's trying to provide, but the inevitable reality of my situation is quick to crush this. "I have to kill people, Kiran. Like...like he did."

"You don't have - " he starts before he remembers last year's victor, who killed three kids to win, and reconsiders his statement. "There's no rule saying that you have to go hunt down everybody. Besides, they're already dead anyway," Kiran adds as an afterthought. "You'd do them a favour."

"Time's up. Next."

Kiran just gives me a meaningful glance before he disappears, barging into Gran on the way out. She's quick to scurry in and smother me with her arms, afraid of wasting her last moments with me. I can already see tears beginning to form in my grandmother's eyes when she backs away to look at me.

It's Gran who breaks the silence first, "I'm so sorry." Her voice is strained in an attempt to maintain her composure. "After everything else, I thought that would be the last of it. You had so much to look forwards to."

"It's fine, it's not your fault." My mouth feels as dry as sawdust as I say this. "There's nothing you could have done about it."

She gives me a pitying look. "You have every right to be upset," Gran coos. "It's understandable."

"I suppose you would say that after ignoring me for the past few years." The first vestiges of bitterness start to sink in.

Her cheeks flush red as she looks away. "I'm sorry, Alaric, I just - " Her voice becomes strained and she has to stop and cough to clear her throat. "After every - everyone else, it was too much. I couldn't bear them taking you away too. It was too much."

"So you let me spend what you thought would be my last year in District Seven without any company at home?" I accuse her. "Just so you could distance yourself from me? Thanks Gran, real appreciated."

I guess I can't really blame her for thinking that; chances are that I would have done the exact same thing if I had been in her shoes, but I'm not, and the only thing I can feel is a burning inside my chest over how easily she can disregard me. "Alaric, I know that I should have made more of an effort to make your last days happier, but you seemed so content with your friends that - "

"Please, spare me your excuses," I hiss. "You know why I was always out? Because you never spared me a second thought, always going out of your way to ignore me. Remember you snapping at me every time I even walked into the same room as you? Acting as if I had the plague every time I tried talking to you? Yeah, I'm sure that was with my best interests at heart, Gran."

She looks at me with tear-filled eyes. "Alaric, please don't do this."

I scoff at this. "You say that after treating me like crap for so long? I shouldn't even be talking to you; it's more than you deserve!" A new realisation dawns on me as I say this, "Why are you even here anyway? Shouldn't you be celebrating the fact that the Capitol can't hurt you any more? That there's nobody left to hold you back?"

"Y-you're still my grandson, you've b-been that for four-fourteen years. I-I-I can't un-undo years of r-raising you," she sobs out. "Pl-please, at least let me see you o-one more time."

"You already are," I say coldly, although the way I run my hand through my hair gives away my awkwardness. Emotions are always a touchy thing with me; it's difficult to tell how people would react to you trying to comfort them or make light of the situation.

Gran doesn't react to my hostility, preferring to waddle forwards, arms tentatively open as she gives me a look that is just begging me to pity her. It's like when you see a wounded animal limping around and you realise how pathetic it is for even trying to survive any longer. "Please Alaric. Please," she wheedles over and over again. "Please don't ruin our last moments. You can't want that."

After a couple of seconds, I cave in. "Alright, alright." I raise my hands in surrender. "Farewell, Gran, for I shan't be returning."

Ignoring my cynical remark, she wraps her bony arms around me in a spine-crushing hug. "You'll do well to remember who you are in there, alright Alaric? Try not to let it get to your head."

"Yeah, okay."

She backs away, looking considerably happier now that she's tied up the loose end that I had posed. "Just be yourself, don't forget that."

Of course Gran just has to say that. I've lost track of the number of times that someone has repeated those words to me in school and at home. Well, being myself - a rebellious son of two prolific rebels - has ended up with me being handed a death sentence.

Yeah, following her advice has really worked out well for me.

* * *

**_Matteo Desontis (16), District 4 Male_**

"In here."

Rough hands shove me through the door before I can object, slamming it shut behind me and leaving me alone in the small room where I'll spend my last hour in District Four. While the beech-wood furniture and light, airy colour scheme is pretty, it just can't compare to being out on the beach, being sprayed with seawater as I had played tag with the little kids. The outdoors had always appealed to me more than being cooped up indoors on my own, knowing that Noah would never go out of his way to talk to me and realising that my parents were too busy to ever pay attention to me.

Although they hadn't neglected me, that doesn't mean that they had involved themselves much in my life. While my parents had made sure that I was fed and clothed for my childhood, the moment that they figured I could raise myself, they immediately delved back into building on their careers. In fact, the last time that I had seen either of them had been several months ago when they had palmed me off onto Noah. As far as I can recall, they're managing the repairing process of District Four, overseeing the clean-up of areas that had been bombed.

The creak of the door being opened draws me from my thoughts as a familiar figure enters without bothering to knock. As usual, his face is set in a serious expression that doesn't change when he sees me.

"Noah." My voice is curt. "Why are you here?"

"I'm your brother."

"And since when has that ever mattered to you?" I ask. "Do tell me what it was that you said to me again during the Dark Days. I fight for freedom first - "

" - and family second?" he finishes. "That doesn't mean that I don't care for you. Am I not allowed to see you off now?" I don't reply, which he takes as an invitation to continue speaking. "Look Matteo, I know we've never seen eye-to-eye with each other, but I did - do - care for you."

"You don't think I'm coming back, do you?" I can't say that I had been expecting any less, but the sting that accompanies the realisation that your own flesh and blood doesn't have faith in you is still there.

The shake of his head confirms this. "Much as I don't want you dead, I don't think you'll win. If you turn out anything like that Two boy, I don't think I'd want you to."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to kill," Noah says bluntly. "That's what they want, Matteo, that's how they lure you into - "

"I don't care!" I snap, anger flaring up inside of me at his selfishness. Here I am, being forced to leave everything I'm used to back here in order to fight to the death, and he still has the gall to try and convince me to support his ideals? How anyone can be so forceful in convincing others that their way of seeing the world is right's beyond me. "Look, I just do not _care_. I didn't ask for none of this, I have no idea how to deal with it, okay? I'm going to die soon, so back off for once."

Noah's going to ignore my words, I can tell by the stubborn look he's wearing, so I quickly add. "Look, I'll think about it, alright? Now's really not the time."

The stern look is gone. "That makes sense." Awkwardly, he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder in what I presume is meant to be a reassuring gesture. "Try and be yourself, yeah Matteo? Who's going to annoy me now?" It's his lame attempt at lightening the mood, but I feel my lips curling up into an empty smile anyway, trying to show my appreciation for him trying to comfort me even as I know that he's trying to use me too. All for the sake of a dead rebellion that'll never reignite within my lifetime.

Not like that's saying much; I'll be just as dead as the rebellion is soon enough. It's their fault that I'm in this situation. There hadn't been anything atrocious about life before the Dark Days, not anything that justified a bloody uprising. Sure, life had been hard if you hadn't been prepared to work, but compared to the atrocities of the war that had followed that had forced the Capitol's hand, it had looked like a stroll in the park.

He's gone by the time I look up again, disappeared without so much as a goodbye. That's much of a surprise though; Noah's rarely one for sentimentalities like that unless it's to persuade others into doing his bidding. The fact that I'm going to have to pay for his selfish ways is enough to stir up anger inside of me, but I quickly suppress it. It's a similar emotion to the ones driving Noah's actions. I can't allow myself to make the same mistakes as him.

"Matteo! Matteo! Matteo!" The door bursts open and I'm flocked by Chenelle, Nadia and Calder before I can take in the sight of them chanting for my attention, their faces pouting at me petulantly.

"Hey guys," I say lamely, trying to envelope all three of them in a hug.

"Are you going away to the Capitol?" Calder inquires. "Can you get me souvenirs? Oh, oh, no! Can I come with you?"

Nadia nudges him. "Don't be silly! Matteo wouldn't want that for you."

"Matteo, you can't go," Chenelle whines, stomping her foot angrily against the ground.

"And why's that?" I ask.

"Because I said so." Her stubbornness makes the Peacekeeper on duty snort with amusement, causing her to turn around and glower at him.

"Are we going to see you in a few weeks?" Nadia says. "You're not going to give up, are you? I don't want you to stay there like the others."

Her eyes are filling up with tears that have yet to be shed, only reminding me more poignantly of what would happen to me if I die. The gruesome images from last year flash through my mind and a wave of nausea accompanies this. Chances are that I'll be one of them in a couple of days, my rotting body only being a painful reminder to my family as to what they'll lose as well, and the possibility of causing that pain for anyone else's family doesn't help the sinking feeling. However, I just smile sadly at them. "You don't have to worry about that," I reassure them. "I'll do my very best to make it back home."

Calder cheers at this, still not quite understanding what being Reaped really entails for me. "Yeah, do that! We'll set up the celebrations and everything, yeah?"

"We'll get your favourite cake!" Nadia joins in, allowing herself to be distracted by Calder's idealistic dreams.

"I want to do the decorations!"

"We'll even clean up for you?" Chenelle offers, giving me a desperate look. "And we won't tease Calder's painting skills like you tell us not to. And and and, we'll listen to what you tell us to do for once! Oh, and we won't bo - "

I raise a hand as if that can stop Chenelle's guilt from flowing out. "Chenelle, it's fine. Really, that's what I don't want."

"You want us to - "

"I want you three to be yourselves, okay? Wherever that's by being well-behaved or not, don't allow what happens on-screen to affect what happens to you. I don't want to interfere."

They nod in unison, like little ducklings. I get the impression that what I'm saying will fall on blind ears once the Games really start. "Okay Matteo, we'll do that." Nadia says.

"But we'll still miss you while you're gone," Calder says. "We can do that, right?"

"Of cour - "

"Time's up!" The Peacekeeper interrupts me with relish. "Better hurry up. Wouldn't want your last moments to be ruined now, would we?"

The three of them grumble, but they don't offer much resistance aside from dragging their feet sullenly against the ground as they leave, offering me last-minute goodbyes as they pass. They still don't really get it, they don't understand the immensity of what I'm about to go through. If it hadn't been for the innate amount of propaganda around and the mandatory viewing, they might not even know that the "honourable sacrifice" that we'll give in the name of Panem happens to be our lives.

If it hadn't been for the rebellion, I could have still been happily looking after the children back in District Four, oblivious to the fact that there are people out there who'd willingly scupper that for a doomed cause.

And if I hadn't been Reaped, I could have joined them and allowed myself to be caught up in their innocence. Their ignorance really would have been bliss in this situation.

* * *

**_Addison West (12), District 6 Male_**

I've been Reaped.

That's the only thing I can focus on right now, the one thing that sticks in my head. I don't care about the fact that the Peacekeepers have all but dragged me into this room and dumped me on the floor or that one of them had held my wrist so tightly that they had left a red imprint and it had felt like the blood flow was being restricted. Even the memories of Sebastianne taunting me this morning seem hazy, smeared by the overwhelming wave of emotions attached to that one thought.

I have been _Reaped_.

I hadn't even been eligible for this until a handful of weeks ago. And what had I really been doing with that time that's worthwhile? All I had done was sit down and tinker away with Callum, safe in the knowledge that nothing there's meant to be dangerous and that I'm free to explore without putting myself at risk. Now I've been Reaped, it's actually me who the escort picked. This isn't something that's supposed to happen to me and yet it had.

I knew I should have stayed indoors. Nobody would have found me if I had hidden out there, the Peacekeepers wouldn't have found me even if they looked for me. Why didn't I stay there? Why had I believed that I wouldn't be picked today when my parents and Callum had assured me that it wouldn't be me?

"Addison, I'm so sorry." Ariana's words are the first thing that alert me to her presence and I jump to my feet before she can react.

"You said that nothing would happen today!" I accuse before I can really process my words. Even though I know that it's not really her fault, she had lied to me. "I-I'm not supposed to be here, y-you said I wouldn't!"

"Don't be an idiot. How was she supposed to stop you getting Reaped today?" Sebastianne's voice is oddly lacking in malice. "But hey, might as well make the best of a bad situation. I get your room." She smirks.

"Sebastianne!" Ariana admonishes. "Now is not the time for your petty rivalry."

"Rivalry? It can hardly be called that!" she scoffs. "And besides, I don't really want Addison's room. Probably infested with bed bugs and lice anyways."

A smile curves up my lips in spite of everything and I realise that she's actually managed to make me smile. "Love you too."

"Yeah, try not to die in there. I won't have anyone around to make me look better than I already am." She sticks out her tongue. "Who am I supposed to tease now?"

"Oh, I know! You can meet my friends!" I say cheerily, jumping at the chance for my family and friends to conciliate together.

"You actually have those?"

I nod, ignoring the snark in her quip. "Yeah, there's Callum and Anita and - and Merryn."

"Well, colour me surprised," she says. "I'm sure you can use your totally _amazing_ social skills to get some allies. You'll be needing them."

"And do try to pick up on those survival skills, Addison. I'd avoid the weapons if I were you," Ariana says. It doesn't pass me by that even without the weapons, I'd be completely outclassed in terms of strength. Unless they're severely malnourished, the older tributes would flatten me in a fight. "Just," she breaks off to cough, trying to hold onto the remnants of her composure. "I mean I - I know this looks hopeless, but you have a chance. Statistically. Try not to just give up, please?"

From the sounds of it, my mother didn't have much of her own to speak of. "I'll try."

The words sound dull and useless to me, utterly lacking in the conviction needed. And while the thought of dying makes my stomach twist into knots, actively killing someone makes me feel like throwing up. As the Peacekeeper slams open the door to announce that time's up, a question comes to mind. "Mu-Mum?"

"Yes?" Ariana, hesitating in leaving, starts to be dragged out by the Peacekeeper while Sebastianne follows obediently. It's all like it's in a dream, like Ariana will only shrink away from me if I dared move a muscle towards her.

"W-would you mind if I ever k-killed anyone?"

Eyes wide with shock, she opens her mouth to respond, but the door slams shut on her before she can get the words out. It's like that's the cue to have my strings cut because the moment the slam resonates through the room, I slump against the wall, head lolling as the enormity of what odds I'm going up against threatens to take over my rationality.

_No, don't think about it. You still have the others to see, you can't ruin their last moments with you._

Couldn't the escort have picked someone else? I know that's selfish, but anyone, anybody else in District Six must stand a better chance than me. They might win! They could help everybody else out if the escort had just picked them instead.

But why should anyone else die for me?

Despite this, that's what someone might end up - inadvertently - doing if I stepped foot inside one of those arenas. No matter what I do from the moment the gong goes off, people will still die in my vain attempt at winning. It doesn't matter a bit if I actually kill them or not because they'd still have to die for me to survive. I don't want that on my conscience, I don't want the knowledge that almost two dozen others had died just so I can continue with my life. What do I matter, anyway? Why should they die for me? I'm nothing, I don't have anything compared to the others I'll meet.

My breathing rate has increased so much that I'm hyperventilating, trying to prevent that light-headed feeling that had happened just before I had fainted. Much as it would be nice not to have to think about these Games, it also means that I'd miss seeing Anita and Callum before I boarded the train, and I really don't want them to have wasted time trying to see me off only for them to see me unconscious. That would be a horrible last impression to leave.

The subtle click of the door being pushed open makes me snap my head up, and the moment I recognise the curly locks of my best friend, I'm up and out of my seat immediately.

"Callum!" I leap forwards and wrap him in a tight hug before he's taken three steps into the room. "I've been so lonely."

It was true. Sebastianne and Ariana had helped ward off the bad thoughts while they were around, but that effect had faltered the moment they had left. Callum just frowns at this. "Hasn't anyone else come to visit you? It's been twenty minutes."

"Well, my family did, but they didn't stay for long," I rectify. "But I'm really glad you're here. Not saying that I didn't want my family here, but they kind of have to visit me and you didn't since you're not related - oh wait! Where's Anita then?" I strain my neck to see over Callum in an attempt to pick out the mousy brown hair and thin stature of Anita.

Callum rolls his eyes, ignoring my babbling. "Anita's not coming. I've told you before and I'll tell you again, she doesn't care about you."

"Don't be silly, of course she cares about me," I reply. "She's always really busy, so something's probably come up that's taken up Anita's time."

"Something more important than seeing a 'friend' off?" Callum snipes. "Anyway, I only have three minutes with you, so can we stop talking about her?"

I give up on trying to convince Callum otherwise. "Well, I'll miss you, but you'll take care of yourself while I'm gone, right?"

"That'll be a long time then," he remarks cynically. "I hate to say this, I really do, but you're going into the Games. Chances are that you won't be returning alive."

It feels like someone has just punched me in the gut. I already know that the odds of me living are next to nothing, but having someone else outright admit this to me only drives this in further. If Callum doesn't even have any faith in me, this really isn't looking good. He must notice this as he adds, "Sorry, that's rude; I just don't want to give you false hope, that's all."

"Yeah, urm, that makes some sense." I rub my wrist awkwardly. "So since I probably won't be seeing you again, yeah, try not to get caught by the Peacekeepers or anything. I can't help you anymore."

Callum sighs. "Even now, you're still worrying about me instead of your own situation." If only he can read my thoughts, then I doubt that he'd have said that. "Shouldn't it be me telling you what not to do?"

"It's giving me something to do aside from freak out," I admit, meriting a smirk from him that quickly fades. "But really, don't annoy them."

"I sincerely and wholeheartedly promise that I will not antagonise any Peacekeepers," Callum says flippantly, although he's not smiling. "Meanwhile, try not to break this in the arena." He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a small metal toy. "It's not really finished, but I was gonna give it to you when it was. Maybe you can focus on that, you know? Take your mind off things?"

On closer inspection, it's a model car, only with some of the key components loosely attached. It's a pretty simple thing to complete, but this small reminder of home makes me stand up a little taller. I'm not useless, not completely certain to die in these Games. I actually have some skills that can help me.

"Thanks," I say. "You have no idea how much this'll help me."


	6. Move Along

**Train Rides**

_**Linnet Jay (18), District 9 Female**_

"Would you like some refreshments?" A voice squawks at me. I jump, eyes darting around to find who had spoken, but there's nobody else around.

Out of nowhere, a mutt jumps out at me and I shriek. At first glance, it looks like a human baby, except for the black tuxedo it wears. Then I notice the oddly-shaped limbs and the tufts of brown hair that cover every inch of its body.

"Are you doing that?" I blurt out stupidly before remembering the conversation I had with Douglas earlier about the mutt servants. Back then, I hadn't even considered the possibility of having one at my disposal. This year's supposed to have been the last time I'd ever have to worry about these Games, after all.

The human-mutt thing observes me with black eyes, the rim of white around the edges giving the animal a bug-eyed look that's actually kind of cute. It's then that I recognise the animal to be a monkey. For a moment, I think it'll start a conversation with me until its mouth opens again. "Yes. Would you care for some refreshments?"

I frown a little in disappointment. This clearly isn't the most intelligent hybrid the Capitol had around. You'd think that the Capitol could afford to spare one for me. It's like they don't appreciate what I'm doing for this country.

"No thank you. I am not hungry," I say, making sure to say each word distinctly as I edge closer, curious as to how much control I really have over this thing.

"Are you certain? Can we not interest you in some of the Capitol's finer delicacies? There is some casu marzu present if you would care to try some."

The name is completely foreign to me and it doesn't help me name any of the dishes available on the table. "Some what?"

In response, the monkey jumps up onto the coffee table and gestures to a small bowl of what looked like cheese. However, it appears to be moving; something that stops me in my tracks. "This is casu marzu."

"So you've said." I abandon my attempts at speaking concisely, still looking at the dish with revulsion. "Why does it look like it's being boiled?"

"The temperature of the selected dish is no higher than the room temperature," The monkey says blandly. "This particular dish contains maggots from the flies that feast off the cheese present. It's vital that the maggots remain alive so that the dish is marginally safer to eat."

I feel my stomach start to heave at the thought of even going near a pile of slimy maggots. "Marginally safer?"

"The risks this dish offer adds a thrilling element to having dinner, as many people have mentioned already. It is highly recommended that you purge your stomach with one of the glasses here after you've consumed this dish if you do not wish to risk the chance of larval infection." The monkey points to some clear liquid residing in elaborate-looking glasses. "Please ensure that you are near a restroom before you take one of the glasses."

"...I think I'll pass," I say, wondering why anyone would decide to eat anything if you were just going to hurl it back up later. The monkey doesn't say anything else as it reaches for the bowl. While it's distracted, I lunge forward, trying to scoop up the monkey, but it proves too quick and I end up stumbling into the table.

"Hey!" I protest as it starts to scamper out of the room, ignoring the worms that were wriggling around in the cheese. "You're meant to be doing what _I_ want!"

Why, of all things, is a damn monkey trying to upstage me? Narrowing my eyes, I give chase as it turns around the corner. All I want is to stroke it for a bit, maybe hold it in my arms and tickle it. That's not something the Capitol can't do, so why won't they let me have this monkey? It's the least they can do for someone like me.

Once I enter the main compartment of the train, I realise that there's too much furniture that it can hide under. The only signs of life that can be found are the dangling legs that poke out from the window sill. "Hey, did you see where it went?"

Much to my chagrin, they don't respond. Do they not realise that they'll only have so much time to spend with me? Storming over to the other side of the window sill, I lean over until my eyes make contact with his. I can already tell that he's my district partner. Hurriedly, I try to remember any details I can about him from the Reapings. I mean, he actually matters now. No matter how pathetic he might be, I have to work with him. All that I can think of when I try to recall anything is how adorable he looks, especially with those dimples and wide brown eyes. He looks like the sort of brother Douglas never was.

"So...you're Lionel. Right?"

He nods, as he's supposed to. Nevertheless, I frown. Doesn't he care enough to actually speak to me? I deserve so much more of a response from him. It's not like someone too quiet would help make me feel better during my time here.

No matter, I reassure myself. Once my stylists get a hold of me, everything will revolve around me again like it should do. Their obedience will be enough for now, or so I try and tell myself.

"I'm Linnet." He doesn't even blink as I move around to sit on the armrest. "You lonely?"

"Why d'you care?" He mumbles.

I blink at him docilely as I snake an arm around him. "I know I'm lonely. And scared. You feel the same, right?"

He nods again, not objecting as I wrap my other arm around his neck, letting his head rest on my shoulder as I close my eyes. It's nice to know that I have such a small kid as a district partner. It's even better that this kid will like and trust me and appreciate the attention I'll give him while it lasts.

Someone else can have him when I get bored, but for now, he's all mine.

"Come on. We can sit somewhere comfier," I say, motioning to the couch, but he shakes his head. "Why not?"

"Used to this area."

"You'll get used to the couch just as well." My patience starts to fray at the edges.

He pouts, as if he really is a little kid. The deformed features of Douglas pops into my head, the memory being one when he had been pestering me for some treat he wanted, and my hands curl up into fists. "I wanna see the Capitol."

"We've just boarded the Capitol, so you'll have to wait until we get there," I say, wishing he'd stop putting himself first and consider _my_ feelings.

Knowing that Lionel is less likely - and less able - to resist than Douglas, I hold him with one arm by the legs and hoist him over to the nearest couch. "There, is that so bad?"

Feeling awkward at how gawky I look standing up on my own, I'm quick to give him another hug but he flinches. This is only made more obvious when my first reaction is to glare at him. "What's the matter?"

"It's, er." He seems to be debating wherever he should even tell me anything. "It's just that if you can, er, pick me up that easy, it's just, well, what'll everyone else do to me?"

I give him a magnanimous smile. "I'd never hurt you."

He doesn't take anywhere near as much gratitude for this declaration as he should do. "There's twenty-odd others."

"Someone as little and cute as you can avoid them just fine." I smile again. "I'll help. Just do what I say, okay?"

He narrows his eyes. "Why?"

It takes a considerable amount of effort to not react to him questioning me. "I'm older and I know more; that much hasn't changed." I nudge him and he gives me a watery smile. However, I ignore this in favour of feeling him snuggle deeper into my arms again. This is how it should be, with people looking up to me without thinking they can dump all of their problems on me as well.

That's all that matters. As long as he respects what I want and makes me a priority, we'll get along just fine.

Lionel decides to ruin this when he opens his mouth. "Yer a lot like Aries. She'd say that."

That's what he decides to ruin the silence with, some pointless comment comparing me to this Aries girl? "Who's Aries?"

"Ma oldest sibling." My hackles flatten a little at this. At least the comparison's a positive one. "She's always having to look after the five of us."

"Wait, hold up. You have five siblings?" I exclaim in disbelief. When he nods, it's my turn to stare at him blankly. "And here I was thinking that one older brother was enough."

"I'm the oldest boy, so I know how yer brother feels," Lionel says, aiming a bashful smile at me. I try and ignore the irritation budding away inside of me as he continues. "My only brother, Drake, is seven and ma littlest sister, Mavis, is only three. Then you have Sable, Fawn and Aries, but Aries is always workin' and Fawn's always playin' in the woods. She never hunts or nothing, just likes to skip around and make daisy chains and play in the leaves and mud. Me and Sable are always havin' to clean her up 'fore mother comes back and get Fawn into trouble. She doesn't have the sense to do it herself."

"Aw, that's cute," I simper. Although his life sounds as boring as I'd expect it to, him opening up to me like he is can only be a good sign. "Being responsible's definitely going to help someone like you."

"I hope so," he says. "It's real strange here. And kinda unnecessary. Anyway, it's weird. They worry over stuff like showers or how to present yourself at dinner."

"It's called etiquette."

"Who'd worry 'bout that after that war? You'd think having all of this back would be good enough for them," Lionel says. "I'll never get the Capitol."

"I'll never understand some of the decisions they make, I must agree." The escort cuts in, sounding irritated. As we turn around, he appears, looking at us with disdain. "This is far better than you deserve."

"We didn't ask to be here, ya know," Lionel complains.

He silences him with a steely look. "It makes no sense for us to have to provide you with the best of everything that we have. The best servants, the best food, the best stylists, the best everything!" He spits out. "Half of the Capitol cannot even afford three servants!"

I say nothing, being unable to relate to his problems. However, I'm also churning over what he's just said. The best servants? That monkey had definitely not been the most intelligent breed that my district had produced. Then again, the Capitol had probably saved their most advanced exports from us to subdue the districts during the Dark Days.

Even so, they should still have some of the specimens I had helped to design. That's my work that they're using, so a little respect wouldn't go amiss. Now that I'm here, they're basically limited editions.

It's such a pity that all of my talent will go to waste. I could have been so much more than just a scientist's daughter.

It hasn't really gone to waste though, I think. The Capitol forces wouldn't have been as successful if I hadn't been helping out. If it hadn't been for me, the Capitol would have had to deal with more losses. That's good enough, definitely great work for a teenager.

No matter what, I'm still important. I'm still useful. That's what will really make me stand out over everyone else. I've already proven that I'm valuable; most of the other tributes are probably rebellious brats who'll get themselves killed off for me.

People need me, they _have_ to. I still have so much to live for.

* * *

**_Fern Matara (18), District 1 Female  
_**

"Why did you even try resisting?"

This is the very first thing my district partner deems appropriate for him to ask me the moment the train doors have slammed shut behind us. His eyes are boring holes into me, doing little to improve my mood.

"Is there any reason why I wouldn't?" I reply calmly, although I can feel my defences rise. "I don't know about you, but killing other children is not something I'm willing to do for the Capitol."

His eyes narrow. "Well that makes a change, doesn't it, _Matara_?" He spits out my last name, laughing bitterly when I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, I know all about you and your mother. You wouldn't think that some uptight bitch like her - "

"I'd highly recommend that you don't speak about my mother like that!" My voice is sharp as I disregard whatever crude remarks he would have made about her.

He advances forward threateningly, sizing me up and taking note of my inferior physical strength. "You gonna make me?"

"Unfortunately, I have no means of shutting you up," I reply dryly, not flinching. If some ape like this guy thinks he can intimidate me, then he had another thought coming. However, he doesn't respond to this, continuing to talk down to me.

"Not that it matters about how 'loyal' your parents are." He scoffs. "I mean, it really is too bad that their only daughter's in the Games now, eh? Guess they'll end up suffering as much as the rebels are."

His immediate judgement of me is enough to antagonise me. "It would be wise not to presume that you know anything about me or my family."

"So you're telling me that I guessed wrong about your father then?" he mocks. "That your mother didn't betray her own district for money? My mistake, I'm ever so sorry!"

"It _is_ your mistake because that's not what happened!" I shoot back, my voice increasing in volume so that I'm almost shouting at him. I manage to calm down a little to continue. "Who do you think you are anyway, judging me like this?"

"Don't you even know my name th - oh wait, you wouldn't, would you?" He replies. "Too busy being a coward to pay attention to me, weren't you? Well, I didn't get that same opportunity, you know; they were on me before I'd even processed what had happened."

"What's your point?" I ask. "Are you saying you would have ran too? Why criticise me then?"

"Because your running reflects badly on me as well." He enunciates each syllable in his sentence as if I'm the unintelligent one. "Do you really think the Capitol's going to let you off for that? I doubt it. And who knows, they might just take it out on your district partner just to drive their point in further."

"How selfless of you," I say. "I'm so glad that you're worrying about how _you_ might pay for this. Allow me to be the one to inform you that you have less than a five percent chance of surviving."

"It's still a chance though," he snarls. "One person can get out of here and that's gonna be me."

"Even if it involves killing other children?" I challenge.

"Like you wouldn't do the same, _Matara_." The intensity of his glare doesn't dissipate as he answers. If possible, his voice contains even more venom than before, snarling out my last name so that it's almost unrecognisable.

"A simple yes would have done," I chide, repeating my earlier words to Clarity. "Unlike you, I don't plan on hurting others because I'm a decent human being. You might want to take note."

The boy just snorts dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Whatever. You say this now, but we'll see in the arena if you live past the first day. At least I'm being honest with myself."

"You're despicable."

"And you're both...despicable and a hypocrite, Matara."

I hold back a smile as he fumbles over his comeback. "My name is Fern. What would yours be?"

"Why would you care?" He asks flippantly.

"Do you plan on being this difficult all the time? That strategy seems like a waste of energy." I'm not sure what he's playing at by trying to aggravate me, but I'm getting sick of it. "Please use some common sense and realised that I can't address you as 'district partner' all the time. It's simply not appropriate."

"It's Calix. Calix Kaeling," he mutters. I didn't recognise the last name, so he probably doesn't belong to an upper-class family in District One. Maybe that was why he's so resentful towards me.

I outstretch my hand again, deciding to be courteous. "It's nice to meet you, Calix."

"Bullshit. Don't waste my time lying to me," Calix says bluntly, still refusing to take my hand. "I already know you're a bitch; it runs in the family, so there's no point in trying to hide it."

"And I suppose being a lowlife like you runs in your blood then." I sniff. "At least I am trying to have manners."

"Yeah, because you're so well-known for being polite," he interjects.

"Oh, do be quiet."

"And thus I rest my case," Calix says smugly.

Realising that he's just another one of the mindless conformists that are so common in my district, I turn away from him to survey our surroundings. My face scrunches up at the thin layer of dust covering the paintings and the window sills. Clearly, the Capitol are too busy using their workforce to repair the Capitol to bother with meticulous cleaning services. Running a finger along the surface of a table positioned below one of the windows, I tut in disapproval. "Looks like they still haven't gotten up to speed with living in complete luxury yet. What a pity."

"That's because you district folk are far too useless and lazy to manage even the simple quotas we set you." Cassian's monotonous voice interferes with anything Calix was planning on saying. "So we have to do it ourselves."

Aforementioned boy doesn't look up from where he's observing the scenery rush by out of the window. "Poor you, actually having to work for something." He glares at the escort. "You don't need half the things you have here."

"Oh, but we do," Cassian replies. "You districts can't be trusted with any of this, so why would we let you look after it? We're just safe-keeping it for those that are worthy."

Calix laughs, a harsh, bitter sound that seems too forced for my liking. "Safe-keeping? That's what you call it to make you feel better about this?" He gestures to the feast that has been set out purely for us and Cassian. "Look at that! That's way more food than we'll ever manage to eat at once! What do you do with the leftovers, huh? That's probably enough to feed a village in District Ten and you're planning on throwing that all away!"

Cassian just looks annoyed. "If you districts hadn't rebelled, then we wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures."

"Are you kidding me? That's not a drastic measure, just you being too spoiled to eat leftovers!" Calix seems to be on the verge of shouting.

"Considering that Panem produces more than enough food to feed everyone, it wouldn't be difficult to make us less likely to revolt by feeding us decently," I point out. "Please refrain from telling us we don't deserve that necessity either," I add as Cassian opens his mouth to object. "You need us to function properly for the Capitol. It's not rocket science, although I completely understand if you aren't that educated. You only originate from the richest city in Panem, after all."

Calix looks at me like this is all a surprise coming from someone like myself. Knowing his prejudices against those of higher status than him, he probably finds me critiquing the Capitol a shock. What he's yet to learn was that regardless of class or gender or relation to me, I plan on always speaking my mind if I find something wrong with anything.

What's the worst anyone can do to me now that I can count down the hours until my demise?

"If there's such a shortage of food like you suggested, then why do you two look so well-fed?" Cassian retorts, noting our healthy appearances. Before I can tell him that the districts that had been the most active in the rebellion - such as Districts Four, Five, Seven and Eleven - had starving children, he rudely turns around and walks off without preamble. "The recaps for the Reapings start soon. You two may want to assess your competition, seeing as two weaklings like you need all the help you can get."

_Weaklings_. I glare at him when he says that. Our district may have tried overthrowing his way of living, but he really should be hospitable towards us and show how much 'better' the Capitol was by treating us with kindness. If you're going to take the moral high ground, being spiteful is not the way to go about it.

Calix has evidently not reached the same conclusion as I have, if his next words are anything to go by. "He's an ass, not to mention dumb as a brick. How did we lose to someone like him?"

"Because they had superior defences, what with the mountains, and despite the fact that the tunnel we're now heading to the Capitol on was damaged, the Capitol had stockpiled enough supplies to cope," I answer in a scholarly tone. "Not to mention that the Peacekeeper training far surpasses anything in the districts as District Two never joined the rebellion, meaning that we didn't re - "

"Miss? Miss Matara?" Calix mimics a small child asking a question in class, even raising his hand in the air slightly. "Sorry to be so rude and interrupt you, miss, but can you shut the fuck up with the history lesson? I didn't ask for one, thanks."

"Technically speaking, you did ask. If you ask a stupid question, you can't expect me to let you continue being ignorant. I'm doing you a favour," I say. Really, he should be grateful that I'm trying to help him here, although most people tend to continue being the slack-jawed incompetents they are under the best of circumstances.

"You're doing me a favour," he reiterates, giving me a skeptical look.

"Yes, I do believe that is what I said."

He sighs. "You do realise how arrogant and stuck up that sounds, right? And you're the person that I have to spend most of my remaining days with."

"Try not to overwhelm me with your enthusiasm there," I remark dryly. "Personally, I prefer 'aware of the fact that I have intelligence and common sense', if you need a label for me."

The boy in question rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway, let's go watch those Reapings. Might as well, right, Matara?"

I nod, not bothering to comment on Calix's preference of calling me by my last name. The Mataras are well-known for supporting the Capitol and seeing as Calix doesn't seem to support them whatsoever, every mention of that divide between us puts me on edge: would he want to target me specifically because of Mother's beliefs? He might be a little less antagonistic than he had been initially, but we're a long way from being friendly with each other.

We're not even close to being allies, as the Capitol had dubbed it when the girls from Seven and Four - Anise and Adriane respectively - and the boy from Two, Aeneas, had joined together in the arena last year. I'm sure that's the reason that Aeneas had won last year, although he had ended up mercy-killing Anise in the end, as well as snapping the necks of the boy from Eight and the Nine girl in his path to 'victory'.

With the thought of 'allies' on my mind, I walk over to the television that's showing a fresh-faced announcer - whose name tag reveals her to be called Fausta Vermont - smiling beatifically at the cameras. With her brown hair and blue eyes, she wouldn't look out of place in the districts if it wasn't for the fact that her appearance is too refined, even by Mother's standards. There isn't a hair out of place among her shiny curls, not a single blemish on her slightly tanned skin or any signs of age present on her. That isn't too uncommon in the Capitol, I hear. Aside from their unnaturally flawless appearances, most of them have the hair and skin colour they were born with.

Fausta's speaking, spewing toxic propaganda, " - and here we have the next batch of tributes offered up by their districts. If you missed last year's Games, then I'll guarantee that this year will catch you up on everything you need to know. There's no chance that these savages will pass up on another opportunity to slaughter each other. Just look at what they managed last year." A montage of clips from the First Games takes focus, flicking through most of the deaths too quickly to see how reluctantly most of the tributes had killed last year.

"Wow, they clearly made an effort to show our good sides, didn't they?" Calix says light-heartedly, all signs of his former hostile self gone. Presumably, he's deemed me worthy after standing up to Cassian. In any case, I'm not interested in antagonising him again, so I keep quiet.

"Were you expecting any less?" I reply dryly, although I can't stop the slight smile that curves my lips, and he laughs again. He seems to do that a lot, I note. Too much to be natural.

"Now it's time to find out which representatives we have for the districts this year. And as always, we'll start with District One." The clip introduces Calix being called up first, failing to miss how he had been escorted up by the Peacekeepers. I grimace a little as I see myself struggle on the screen. In retrospect, I hadn't even tried fighting that much, although that's not how Mother had seen it.

_It's for the good of this country. Of all the people to be Reaped, you should have understood that!_

"Just look at how vicious that girl is, refusing to accept her comeuppance! That boy isn't any better; he should be proud he's representing his district. I wouldn't be surprised if that's how every child in District One reacts to being punished."

I hear Calix swear under his breath, but I don't chastise him as I narrow my eyes at the screen. We had just found out that we might die in less than a week and she's expecting us to take this in our strides?

"Neither of these two look enthused by this, but that's always open to change. I'd keep an eye out for these two as potential victors this year, especially the boy."

I scoff at this. "Would that be that her idea of a compliment?"

"I wouldn't mind," Calix mutters.

District Two follows on with an identical stage set-up. The only real difference is the one chair that the victor of the First Hunger Games sits on. He looks unimpressed as Knox Easton is Reaped and his features morph into a scowl when Knox laughs as she strides up and launches into an impromptu speech. She even salutes at the end.

"Emotions do make you do strange things, don't they?" I immediately jump to this conclusion, remembering how irrationally I had acted. "There are far better ways of proving your loyalty without martyring yourself, unless she's attempting to gain sponsors."

Calix - unbelievably enough - just laughs in my face. "Why does everyone have to have some ulterior motive with you? She could have just done it because she could. Knox ain't got nothing to lose."

"I could throw that vase at you 'just because I can' with that reasoning," I say, pointing at the vase on the coffee table in front of the couch we sit on.

"Looks like we all know what's on your mind then," he replies with a smirk before he turns serious again. "But what's your point?"

"She was being illogical," I reply mechanically.

He gives me an odd look. "People rarely use logic, Matara. Haven't your sixteen years or whatever told you that yet?"

"I'm eighteen," I immediately rectify. "And no, I do not understand why people insist on deliberately acting in such futile and ridiculous ways. It makes no sense!"

Calix continues to stare at me like I've sprouted wings, but chooses to say nothing, just shaking his head in disbelief before turning back to where the District Two male had been picked. We've missed his reaction to being chosen, but there's a thoughtful expression on his face despite the fact that his blue eyes are wide with alarm.

Fausta's voice continues to babble on about how unlikely it is that the district who harboured the first victor would prevail again this year but that the girl looks promising and might do well with that attitude and -

"Does her narration have a mute button?" Calix yawns insolently, throwing the remote at the television. "She's such a pain to listen to."

"You weren't complaining when she said you had a chance," I point out. "What's wrong now - jealous?"

This earns me a dirty look. "She's talking crap. She'll probably dismiss us as soon as the next stronger competitor comes along."

Competitor. Calix is still using remote, cold terms to describe the other children. It's as if he's trying to forget this fact so that he can kill them easier with less remorse.

Competitor. That's all I'll be to him sooner or later, and that's assuming he isn't already planning out my death. In any case, I don't want to draw attention to the fact that I'm a target he might try to take out in the arena.

That's all I am now. I'm not a human to be respected. I'm just a _competitor_.

* * *

**_Alaric Lyptus (14), District 7 Male  
_**

One painstakingly detailed painting that's hanging on the cream-coloured walls, depicting a beautiful coastal seaside. Several dozen glittering, modest-sized crystals swinging from an ornate chandelier. Four gleaming china plates arranged in a square formation on a polished mahogany table, loaded with small chocolates. Everything's tasteful on this train; nothing's all gaudy like I had been expecting.

It's almost enough to make me forget that these living conditions are only temporary for me. Almost. I don't think I can ever forget anything about the city that had torn apart my family and the lives of those around me. For all I know, Anise and Kennedy might have walked down these hallways once, but now there's not a single trace left.

There's not a single food stain, any creases in the bedsheets or scratches on the cutlery to show that anybody else had dared to sully them by even looking in their direction.

I would say that it's like Anise and Kennedy had never existed, but anybody with access to the arenas can see that was a lie. All you have to do is go on one of the tours to the place where they had died. They glorified their deaths and now they plan on doing the same to me. Our deaths will be a complete contrast to the rest of my family's, remaining in everyone's memories for how horrific they'll be.

The dictators leading Panem had been remarkably quick in dealing with my parents. While my mother had 'disappeared' during the final round of bombings, they had dragged my father out and shot him unceremoniously on the front doorstep of my house. They hadn't even bothered to liven up his execution; treating him like a common criminal seemed to be their way of spiting him. Afterwards, they had dragged his dead body around the district as an example before leaving him in a ditch to rot.

I can still remember the smell as me and Anise had tried to drag him out to give him a decent burial. Nobody else had tried to help us, merely giving us pitying looks before they hurried away from us as if we were infected with the plague. In retrospect, I don't blame them - much - for wanting to avoid the Capitol's wrath; within two years, they had killed my parents and sentenced their only child to the tournament that had been born out of the ashes of the rebellion.

It's not the most subtle way of punishing the rebel leaders in District Seven, but Anise's death had definitely annihilated any support for her family, turning her name from one of a martyr to that of a glorified tragedy. For a couple of weeks after Anise had died, the Capitol had made a big show of throwing the scraps from their kingdom to feed her family under the guise of 'generously' showing mercy to the family of 'deluded' nutcases, the family that had raised the child who had lost her mind.

In any case, I'm more than aware of what's awaiting me. Kennedy's death might have been mercifully brief, but Anise...they had warped Anise into a monster. The Anise I had been acquainted with wouldn't have attacked someone with a saw, she wouldn't have been so blinded by rage that she had rushed into a factory trap, she wouldn't have stayed with the District Two boy - her own ally - who had ignored her screams as he smashed in her skull with a brick.

The train jerks suddenly, causing me to almost fall off the bed. I can still remember how quickly the screaming and the machinery had stopped as abruptly as if someone had cut off the power. It's that silence that really gets me; how eerily quiet it had been right afterwards, the fact that everything had gone back to how it had been before she was killed so quickly.

And right now, with nothing but the humming of the train that sounds way too similar to the sawing machinery, it's entirely too quiet. There are no sounds, no teasing or childish pranking or any laughter, nothing to take away the memories of Anise's death or how easily that can be me.

That very same District Two boy, Aeneas, had ended up winning those Games. Had he moved on from killing Anise? Had he even cared about her?

_He's living in luxury while you're staving off starvation_, I think snidely in response. _Do you really think he'd care about any of his victims when he has a life like that?_

Shaking my head in an attempt to rid myself of these thoughts, I think about where there would be other people. I need them, I need someone to distract me from Anise like trying to impress Kiran and his friends back home had done.

The main carriage is where the television is situated. My district partner and escort should be there if they're watching the Reapings. Maybe I've gotten lucky and I'll be paired up with a fairly sociable, unreserved girl for my district partner. Someone who knows what my district is like would be a lot nicer for an ally than a complete, utter stranger from the other end of Panem like Districts One, Four and Five.

Walking up to the door, I'm startled when it slides open of its own accord without me even touching it. Obviously, it must have done that when I entered this room in the first place, but I had been too preoccupied back then to really pay attention to anything else.

"Don't worry; April here was just as fascinated with that as you are," the escort says in what I presume is his attempt at sympathy, but just comes across as incredibly condescending. Looking at April, it's hard to believe that she had been interested in anything. All she's doing is staring at her lap, muttering something under her breath that I can't make out. "In any case, you're here just in time for District Three! Isn't that wonderful?"

When I see Elysia, the District Three girl, looking as if someone had electrocuted her, I wonder how this can possibly class as anyone's idea of 'wonderful'. Her district partner, Emery, fails to keep his composure as tears run down his cheeks.

"Wonderful? How can they do this to people?" I ask to nobody in particular.

However, Miss April Danica takes this as her cue to speak. "They're meant to be here. You don't need to worry about how, they just are."

I raise an eyebrow. April almost sounds like she approves of the Games; not the attitude I'd expect. "Okay then, why are they doing this then? Why do the Capitol get to pick and choose who dies here?"

"The Capitol doesn't decide." April gives me a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

"They're the people who made these Games," I point this out like it's obvious, which it should be.

"Doesn't mean they choose who enters the Games."

"April, they created the Games. There's nothing stopping them from picking the tributes."

"Doesn't mean they choose who enters the Games," April repeats stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then who does?" I ask, just waiting for April to grin at me and say something like 'The President, silly' or something equally obvious.

Instead, she nods her head as she rocks from side to side in her chair, frizzy blonde waves sticking out everywhere. "Nobody. If we're picked, we're meant to be here, and nothing would have changed that."

"Wow, great answer," I say in a scathing tone, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Really helped clear things up for me, yeah?"

Her smile widens, either because she's mocking me or she hasn't picked up on the sarcasm. "That's nice, but it doesn't really matter if you know. It doesn't change anything, which is good in the end up, I think. I'm not really sure."

"What are you on about?" I sigh. Just my luck to get some weird girl for a district partner. April strikes me as one of those people that wouldn't know which way's up unless someone tells them.

April continues rocking around in her chair, kicking her legs with cheerful abandon, but she says nothing. For some reason, the indulgent look she gives me rubs me up the wrong way, as if she's an adult looking down on an ignorant child.

I'm tempted to say how little sense she was making, but I'm reluctant to admit that I can't figure her out. It's not something I'm used to. I'm not supposed to be the one that's left with nothing to say; my job's supposed to be outsmarting others, not the other way around.

However confusing that conversation had been, watching the Reapings isn't much fun either. I grimace as Ray stumbles onto the stage with tears trailing down her cheeks. Matteo looks equally shocked. I wince when several little kids - who can't be much older than eight or nine years old - attempt to break through the crowd to reach him. I already know first-hand how the Capitol are ripping apart families this way, but this doesn't stop me from flinching slightly.

"Does it bother you that nobody did that when you were chosen?" April inquires in the same breezy tone she seems to apply to everything, like nothing can really affect her.

I shake my head. "My grandmother already knows it's pointless trying to do that."

April puckers her lips at me in what I think is her trying to make a sympathetic face, but looks more like a fish. "Just your grandmother? Is she all alone now? How old is she?"

That last question strikes me as out of place with the others, but I just shrug. "Yeah, everybody else in my family's dead now. It's kind of tragic that she's going to be the last surviving member and she's the oldest out of all of us, maybe in her seventies? It's weird."

"Most people don't live past fifty in District Seven, so I'm sure she won't have to suffer for long," April replies in a matter-of-fact tone. I'm not entirely sure if that's her attempt at creeping me out or a genuine attempt at reassurance.

"Nah, she's a tough lady. I'm sure she'll manage somehow," I say defensively. "It's not like we live in a mansion or nothing, but it's a nice neighbourhood. Not much crime aside from them occasional riots, you know." I don't bother telling April that I've taken part in some of those riots; plenty of teenagers across our district had tried staging their own rebellions against the Games, but none had been successful. Only the leaders had really been punished, while everyone else who had been captured by the Peacekeepers had faced a whipping.

I hadn't been one of them. Someone like me is far too sneaky to get caught by those lumbering oafs that supposedly maintain the peace.

"Did you like District Seven then?" she asks. It seems to be an innocent enough a question. The way her smile makes her dimples more noticeable and the skin around her eyes crease can never be considered threatening either.

"As opposed to the other districts? Can't really say since I've never been to the others, but I lived well enough back home."

"That's a shame, since it'll be the last time you see it." The cheery tone of her voice means that the implications of her words almost pass me by.

"Excuse me?" Swivelling around in my chair, I narrow my eyes at her. "Are you threatening me?"

Ever before the rebellion, it had been rare that someone had been so blunt towards me. Any rudeness I had received had certainly not come from a dainty, smiley girl like April. Oddly enough, the knowledge that someone isn't treating me like some pity case calms me down a little. At least this is one girl from District Seven who might not treat me differently because of my 'problems', even if that doesn't speak volumes about her observational skills.

April just laughs off my accusation. "Why you so aggressive? Didn't you know that we're not coming back?"

"Yeah, 'course, just sounded like you were personally threatening to kill me, that's all," I point out, although it seems doubtful that had been her intention. Even if she is dangerous, nobody with any sense would make a serious threat before the Games.

"Sorry, I was - " Her eyes look into the distance absentmindedly before they focus back on me. "Saying it how. It's going to happen." April frowns, apparently unsure of what to say.

Mind you, I'm also dubious about our chances; my odds are already slim without involving my family and April has the healthy look of a girl used to three meals a day. That's definitely material for the Games, I know that much. However, I choose not to voice this. "You never know. We could have a chance."

_Well, we could if we were willing to kill_, I think grimly, but April - oblivious to my thoughts - talks over me. "Nah, I'm going to die in there anyway, Alan - "

"Alaric."

"A-lare-rick," she smiles. "But yeah, I'm going to die in there, but that's okay. Because - you know - everybody dies anyway."


	7. Broken Idols

**Chariot Rides**

**_Ianthe Larkspur (17), District 11 Female_**

The moment I see all of the tools that the Capitol think are needed to 'transform' me, I freeze as I take my first steps into the styling room.

Well, I say 'tools' but that may be a tad euphemistic for the razors, knives, scissors and other things that I don't want anywhere near me. How am I meant to sit down in a chair and remain calm as they cut my hair when for all I know, someone might be trying to stab me in the throat with the very same 'tools' in a week?

How do they think I'll ever manage to _not_ think that when I see the flash of silver as they work away at me?

"Well, don't be shy now. We don't have all day with you," one of them says in a cloyingly sweet voice. "I highly doubt you've put any thought into your appearance beforehand."

"I'll pass."

The male stylist tuts. "It's compulsory, Ianthe."

"Don't you dare use my name!" I snap, uncomfortable with even that level of informality from this male. "You don't know me."

"What else is he meant to call you?" One of the girls asks. I already know that I'd be a lot happier if none of these stylists even acknowledges me. Having them personally attend to me makes me want to curl up in a ball that nobody can ever penetrate.

"Come on, don't be annoying." The other girl's stood up and has gone to retrieve something from the cabinet at the other end of the room. "You'll look better than ever once we're done."

_I don't want to live up to your ideals of beauty_. The thought of having everyone gawk at me and only focus on the superficial details about me makes my stomach flip. If I'm pretty, then I won't be able to be overlooked.

For once, I hope that my district partner lives up to the fine example that his gender have set for him. Please, I plead hopelessly to myself. Please let him use this opportunity to feed his ego by being obnoxious and have him soak up all the attention. He's stocky, I've noticed that much about him, and people are attracted to that sort of thing, right?

"It's an necessary evil," the male stylist says. "You're not special, so don't think you're getting out of this."

I laugh harshly, using that as my last weapon. "Looking like one of your mannequin's necessary now? Why don't you save yourselves the time and just put me in my outfit? Nobody cares about my hair."

The male shares an impatient look with his stylists, the sort of look I've seen on parents as they watch their child have a tantrum, and I try loading all of the scorn I can muster into my next words. "Is that too subtle for you? Then here's what I want in basic English; stay away from me."

Ignoring my words, they advance forward, pale hands grabbing at me as I back away. Their voices sting me like knives as they whittle away at my self-confidence.

"What brittle hair!" One of the girls says as she briskly runs a hand through my brown curls. "Did she even bother to brush it back there?"

"I doubt it, Leticia. I hear they live like animals!" This remark comes from a tall, gangly girl who seems ill at ease compared to the confidence that her companions are radiating. Her head's bobbling along with whatever Leticia and the male stylist are saying without making any attempts to add her own opinions. The resemblance to a herd of Peacekeepers mindlessly following their orders is striking.

"Apparently, they don't even sleep in beds, Silvana!" Leticia exclaims. "Honestly, who chooses to sleep in mud? It's barbaric, I tell you!"

I open my mouth, fully ready to inform Leticia that she's one to talk about barbarism until it dawns on me that the districts had been just as savage when attacking the Capitol as they had been to us. For all I know, there could have been hundreds of Capitolites who have been treated like me. In the end, I settle for something I can definitely rely on. "Maybe I'm barbaric to you, but I'm not the one murdering twenty three kids a year."

Leticia just laughs this off in my face. "Oh darling, you're so deluded! We're not killing you; that's what you're going to do to each other. Did you forget you'll be doing the same thing soon?"

"She'll probably enjoy this," Silvana snarls. "Ripping apart her former allies, that is. You can't trust any of them as far as you can throw them!"

"Not far, I'm sure."

I clench my fists. How am I supposed to win here? If I say that I don't want to participate, they'll call me out for my 'cowardice' and my refusal to 'face my punishment' head on, but if I agree with the Games, they'll label me a monster like they're doing now.

In the end, I opt to stay silent. They can't rightfully accuse me of anything if I don't open my mouth to confirm their suspicions. However, this still leaves me defenceless against them invading my personal space.

"Look, can I just get myself changed? Please?"

This goes down about as well as I've expected. "No, no, no, you'll mess it all up!"

"You'll destroy our hard work!"

"A district citizen like you won't have a clue what to do!" Leticia moves dangerously close to me and my eyes dart around as I try to find a way out.

"Don't touch me!"

My eyes fall on a sharp-looking object that's on the tray they had laid out all their equipment on. I'm not sure what it is, but it doesn't look like anything I wanted them to use on me as they remodel me into their idea of fashion. Or a laughing stock.

I can't even count on the fact that my stylists would try their best to 'make me shine' or whatever. Most of the stylists last year had deliberately embarrassed their tributes, making sure their outfits were so abysmal that the audience would have to laugh at the tributes. I can still remember how the District One tributes had worn nothing but body glitter and a few strands of ribbon and how the District Seven tributes had resembled tree stumps. District Nine's sheep pyjamas and District Twelve being half-buried in a pile of coal had also stood out that night.

With outfits like those, I'm not sure why they feel the need to make me look like a doll first. I guess it's just too painful a reminder that Capitolites aren't that far removed from the apes we're descended from.

Leticia scoffs, but she's less confident as she takes another step forward. "I would kindly advice you to put that down, dear."

"Leave. Me. Alone."

The male rolls his eyes. "We're not trying to hurt you - "

That's what they all say. That's what Father had said afterwards and look at what he had done. That's what bad people say when they mean anything but.

" - and if you can't handle us, then how on Earth do you expect to survive in the arena?"

"I don't," I retort. "There, I don't want your...your help."

"Looks like she's as bad as last year's," I hear the boy mutter as he moves forward, nodding grimly at someone behind me as he steps forward.

The willingness to invade my personal space, the continuous refusal to respect my wishes...it's just like Sage is here, taunting me that I'm naturally weaker than he is, that I'll never be capable of defending myself without a strong man like him or Father around.

Well, I can't be those things now. I can't allow anyone else to push me around and violate me. Mother had that happen to her, but I can't, I won't follow in her footsteps.

"I said no!" I throw a punch in his direction, although I flinch away the moment my fist makes contact with his jaw. As I raise my fist to drive him away, a hand snakes around my wrist. The flash of silver in the harsh spotlights warns me too late of this new threat as the stab of a needle punctures my arm, the translucent liquid slowly being plunged down. Whatever that stuff is, it's fast-acting as I feel my limbs turn to wood, becoming unresponsive as I start to topple backwards into the arms of my assailant.

"Your words mean nothing here."

* * *

The first thing I'm aware of is the uncomfortable sensation of fabric pressing against my body. I try to get up, but whatever I'm wearing now is too stiff for me to even bend over, so I accomplish nothing.

"You should know that you're inferior by now." Leticia enters the room, looking at me like I'm dirt beneath her shoes. "No matter; you'll pay it back when you enter these Games."

I'm inferior? Isn't she aware of the position she's in? I may not be considered that important in the long run, but at least I'm aware of this. Leticia doesn't even seem to care that she's just being used as a puppet by the men in charge. The inane amount of time Leticia must have put into her appearance only makes this more blatant. Just looking at her is enough to make me sick.

What must it be like, I wonder, to be relegated to nothing but a trophy?

However, I say nothing, knowing that she's far too set in her ways to ever be swayed by a district citizen like me. "What am I dressed as?"

"Your costume artfully represents a cucumber," she gloats, stretching out the word 'artfully' to the point that I can barely understand her. "A rotten cucumber, that is. We thought showing your true colours in this way also fits with the district industry!"

"That is ridiculous."

"No more ridiculous than your refusal to act civil," the voice of the male stylist calls from my left, although I'm still unable to move my head much to see him. When he notices the fury that must be clear on me, he sighs. "I didn't need to read your profile to put a reason to your hostility."

"Don't act like you know me," I repeat, although my voice is too flat this time to have any effect on him.

"I'm sure that there isn't much to find out," he says snidely. "My guess is that you think you're entitled to equal rights, yes?" When I nod - of course I should have the same human rights as they do - his lip curls up. "Tells us everything we need to know. You're all the same."

"Bit rich coming from you, don't you think?" I sneer, although the effect's ruined somewhat by me yawning halfway through that sentence. "With you all being distracted from what really matters with the latest trend. You don't know the half of what goes on beyond your cushy little world."

"You say this, yet you remain ignorant as to what goes on within most of your own district," he points out. "But let's just agree to disagree, shall we? Right now, the show must start."

I try and move back, but my limbs still feel like rubber, flopping and hitting the table ineffectively. "Just give in, Ianthe." I glare at him as he utters my name again. "Play along; just forget everything, everyone that's ever propped you up. You have nothing now, _you're_ nothing."

"I'm Ianthe," I say, voice surprisingly level for the fact that he's just implied that the only things defining me are Sage and Father. "And I don't need anything else to make me worth something."

* * *

**_Nicolet Armin (14), District 5 Female_**

Beauty, there's so much of it around here.

From the reflective skyscrapers soaring above my head into the night sky to the polished roads and sidewalks, nothing here is left to collect dust or soot. Not like District Five.

Unbelievably enough, the Capitol has exceeded my expectations. This is everything that I've envisioned in my wildest fantasies about escaping the tedium of my life. The technology, the content atmosphere and the colours. Oh, how could I describe them! Vivid reds, emerald greens and pastel pinks and yellows are everywhere I looked, as if I've stepped into a dreamland. There's not a single trace of that mind-rotting grey to be seen.

It's almost enough to make me forget that it's just a coverup, like fancy wrapping-paper covering an empty box. I've seen what the Capitol considers 'waste' first-hand when Austin had shoved me into a large waste bin earlier.

_You don't belong here. Don't act like they'll ever respect you just because you'll die for them._

That had been full of soft velvets and silks that are so colourful that I know they would have amused any child back in my home district, although they'd be lucky to even know that such colours exist.

I know I had spent ten minutes going through every material in there, wanting to feel and look at all of the variety in styles and textures and colour, the colour. I'm still there now, pawing through the materials for the ones I like the best as I wait for my stylist to arrive and make any 'final touches' that I apparently need so badly.

Where do I possibly belong here, where everything is so impossibly perfect that I fear that I'd ruin everything if I dare to interfere? These objects and luxuries...they all belong to a different world. Austin's right; I don't belong here.

"Are you okay, darling?" One of the people I presume to be my 'prep team' asks and I jump out of my skin. She looks pretty with her mulberry ringlets that reach her shoulders, pale, flawless skin and pale lilac eyes. When I nod, she extends her hand and lets me pull on her as I get out of the waste bin. "You must be Nicolet. I'm Aella and I'll be helping you look your best tonight."

"Th-thank you," I say, caught off-guard by her kindness. I haven't remained blind to the hostility that the Capitol show towards the districts.

She grins impishly. "In fact, I made your outfit especially to show you in your best light." Aella smirks as she says this. "You'll just be the star of the show."

"Oh, urm," I'm not sure what the correct protocol for being told that is, so I just play with my hands and avoid making eye contact. She giggles.

"No need to be ashamed. That's not going to help you become famous tonight. You are the first ever volunteer for these Games. Do you know what you've done? You've added district pride to this event!" Aella fans herself, albeit in a deliberately melodramatic way. "Oh, it's such an honour to be here with you!"

Disappointment floods through me, even though I had thought myself immune to it. Aella isn't interested in _me_, she just cares for the attention my volunteering's garnered.

I wonder what she'd do if she finds out that my reasons for volunteering have nothing to do with patriotism.

She doesn't notice - or care - about my lack of enthusiasm as she grabs a bunch of silver tools and places them on a tray, "Let's finish up what your prep team started, shall we? This might hurt a little, but try not to fidget too much, or you'll ruin it."

I nod and she smiles again, "Good girl." She reaches into her bag, retrieving several white strips from the inside before she advances towards me, "Now dear, this may hurt a little, but you'll manage, won't you? It's for the greater good."

"What is it?"

"Just a little something to help you with that excess hair." Aella waves a hand at this. "Can't have you resembling an ape. It won't do for your first impression!"

I raise an eyebrow. "But...aren't we descended from them?"

"No, no, no! We're better than them!" She shrieks, indignant at the mere thought of sharing DNA with an ape. "Apes are animals, only just suitable for servitude. Nothing more, Nicolet! Don't be so liberal!"

She's stuck the strip on my skin while she says this and before I can fully register this, she yanks upwards sharply. My face scrunches up, but I say nothing. "Good girl, Nicolet. Last year's girl was so whiny. You think she'd never suffered a little pain to look pretty before." She smiles at this. "Well, she probably hadn't. Her hair was awful!"

"You sound surprised."

Aella just laughs in reply as she continues ripping out any body hair that hadn't been caught earlier on. My eyes automatically water at the stinging pain, as if my arms are on fire, but the sensation disappears as quickly as it appears, so I manage not to shift around too much. Eventually, I pass her scrutiny as she takes my hand and escorts me over to a giant mirror.

"There you go now, darling!" Aella steps away from the mirror, gesturing to it as if I'm incapable of seeing the six-foot monstrosity that exists solely to see my own reflection. The mirror strikes me as an excessive sacrifice of metal and glass in the name of appeasing someone's vanity.

It's an exaggeration to say that I'm unrecognisable. There's not a single trace of the scars accumulated from my previous life and a fine layer or powder has made the freckles covering my nose impossible to see. With my eyelashes extended to unnatural lengths, my hair curled into uniform ringlets and my eyebrows plucked to neat lines, I resemble the poster child of the Capitol more than anything.

Aella doesn't allow time for me to comment as she rushes next door. A few seconds later, she returns. "Close your eyes now!"

Her voice is sickly sweet, but I don't object. I can hear the sound of fabric rustling as she wrestles the dress out of the covering. Holding my arms, she guides them through the sleeves before zipping up the back. The dress - at least, I'm presuming it was a dress - makes me jump at first; it's uncomfortably cold against my skin and neck.

"And there you go! You can open your eyes now, sweetie."

Without regard for caution, my eyes snap open and I immediately squint. When Aella had said that, she had neglected to mention my neck, which is covered in a glittering arrangement of jewels that twinkle brightly enough to blind anyone looking in my direction.

The rest of the outfit consists of a dress that is made entirely out of dark blue rectangles loosely attached to each other by silver threads; I can see the occasional flash of skin from between the gaps in this design. When I shift my weight, the dress makes clinking sounds.

A pair of navy blue heels completes the look, but I barely pay these heed as I gawk at the reflection. Aella, taking this as a good sign, beams at me. "Don't you love them? They're miniature solar panels!"

"Why are they so cold?"

"Well, there's a little bit of glass coating them." She fingers one of the solar panel mimics. "They'll reflect back the light just beautifully out there."

She looks at me expectantly as she says this and I realise that it's my cue to be grateful. "Thank you?"

"I should hope so!" Aella's haughty tone grates on my ears.

"But why would you want to help me like this?" I quickly add. "Instead of humiliating me?"

"Nonsense! You're the last person I would do that to!" She squeals, apparently stunned with this assumption. "You've already won over the Capitol; you deserve better than last year's tributes!"

If by 'won over', she means that I would prove the Capitol's assumptions about the district children correct, then Aella had hit the nail right on the head.

Really, it's no surprise that the Capitol would 'award' the least atrocious outfits to the most compliant tributes. In their eyes, fashion's a potent weapon.

"Thank you," I reiterate before heading out, admittedly curious as to what everybody else looks like. I'm not even sure why I care that much. What use would knowing what the other outfits are like do to anyone?

In spite of this, I find my eyes straying around to observe the other tributes. District Three, I notice straight away, have not been 'blessed' with outfits better than last year's. Both of them are dressed up as shattered light bulbs, wearing hats that have broken glass sticking out at haphazard angles and dangling off string in front of their faces. Combine that with the scraps of metal sticking out of their tight grey dresses and I'd be surprised if both of them survived the night uninjured.

Over in the distance, I can see the pair from Nine smothered in a wolf and sheep costume. It's impossible to tell which tribute is meant to be which. Meanwhile, the only other chariot here harbours the District Six tributes, who have been shoved into shapeless grey suits that I think are meant to resemble hovercrafts, but the way it hangs limply off their bodies makes it hard to tell.

The boy, having noticed me gawking, waves at me. "Nicolet, hi!"

His district partner grimaces at this. "Must you be so loud?"

Ignoring her, the boy beckons me over and I comply without hesitation. There's not anything to be won by being dismissive of his request. Besides, what makes me worthy of inconveniencing him?

"Good evening," I say once I've walked over, inclining my head in their direction. As far as I can remember, that's polite behaviour for greeting others.

"Evening!" He answers back, practically booming out the word. The girl from Three gives him an irritated look before she glares at her chariot again, looking for all the while like she's trying to set it on fire.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I'm Addison." He stretches out a hand before realising that I can't possibly reach it from the ground. He's quick to withdraw it, blushing slightly. "And' this is Stella."

She gives me a scrutinising look, noting my height and malnourished build, before her lip curls up slightly. "Yeah, that's me." Her eyes survey the dress I'm wearing. "Fancy that."

"Yeah, your dress is really pretty!" Addison says before he looks away awkwardly. "Um, sorry. Not to startle you or anything."

Why does he care so much about what I think of him? I'm tempted to ask, but it's unlikely that I'd get an honest answer in response. People are funny like that when it comes to being truthful. "It's fine. I can't take credit for this design."

Stella's eyes glitter as she admires the dress. "I haven't seen anything like that done before."

"There's only been two Games thus far," I point out with no change in tone.

Addison laughs this off as he turns to Stella. "Fear not! We'll soar above everyone tonight!"

It's only when Stella groans that I even realise that Addison had tried making a joke. "I was wondering what your outfits were representing."

"Hovercrafts, of course!" Addison shouts with the vigour of a little kid announcing their birthday.

Nobody else shares his enthusiasm as the Three girl whirls around again. "Shut up!"

Addison immediately stops smiling, his good mood having been quick to crumble with those two words from that girl. Well, it's not as if Addison would have remained in good spirits for long. Nothing that can make you feel like that ever lasted, so what's the point of trying to stay that way? It just isn't worth the time.

Stella sighs at this, but it's not her that 'reassures' Addison. "Cheer up, Addy. She'll be dead soon, anyways."

Simultaneously, we all turn around to face this newcomer; a tiny girl with tanned skin and frizzy blonde hair that sticks out at all angles.

"That's...not reassuring," Stella points out dryly.

"Doesn't have to be," she replies. One of the wood figurines dangling from her hat gets into her mouth and she spits it out, making a deliberate popping sound. She gives me a quizzical look. "You must get it, you wanted this. You understand what we're going to do."

The mildness in which she says this differs from the bitterness I would have expected, but when I open my mouth to deny this, nothing will come out. Because it's true that I volunteered to get away from District Five, to just escape from my life there.

I just hadn't really considered what volunteering really entailed.

Seeing resentment veiled behind the eyes of the District Six tributes, I realise that to everyone, I had volunteered to kill them.

Thing is, I had only volunteered to get away; I hadn't cared how, but that doesn't mean that anyone should have to pay the consequences of my problems.

Why should my wants and desires lead to their deaths? What makes _me_ so special?

* * *

**_Johan Hathaway (16), District 2 Male_**

Now that everyone's assembled before me, I can make an accurate assessment on who I really should be looking out for.

Of course, everyone's a threat to my life, direct or indirect, so it's always good to know what everyone's weaknesses are so that I can exploit them to my advantage, regardless of who seems to be a threat at first glance.

Ianthe, the female representative from Eleven, is twitchy and flinches every time someone tried to make contact with her; the boy from Eight, Atlas, talks too much about himself; April seems ditzy and dependent on her equally weak district partner to concentrate and while Matteo and Calix look physically capable, the former acts far too nice to everyone for his own good and the latter doesn't strike me as someone wanting to make an enemy out of us. In fact, Calix is trying to soften up my district partner, Knox Easton, of all people. Snippets of the conversation are reaching my ears despite my best efforts to tune it out.

"Shame to see someone like you here." Calix is grinning stupidly at her, looking very much like the rich, influential people Knox respects with his blonde hair slicked back and a crown on his head. Being from the luxury district, it's safe to assume that you'll been adorned with good outfits if your stylist feels like being kind.

"And it's such a shame to see you here," Knox sniffs at the boy, not the slightest bit intimidated despite his presence. "It makes the entire experience so much worse when I have to deal with you."

"So catty."

"At least I have enough class to not use cheesy pickup lines," she retorts. I hadn't been listening in long enough to know what Calix had said to her and I'm not interested in finding out.

He just laughs. "You know you like the attention."

"Oh please, why should I appreciate you noticing me?"

"Since you used 'please', I'll be nice and let you off for that." I tense up at that last part, but all Calix does is ignore Knox's rudeness as the smile drops off his face. "No chance a girl like you already has an alliance?"

Seeing as Knox has made no attempts to converse with anyone else, I'm aware of the fact she doesn't have an alliance, so I'm surprised when she nods. "I'm with my district partner."

"Pardon?" I interject. "Since when had we arranged this?"

She gives me a look as if the answer's obvious. "Well, of course you're allied with me. Do you really want to ally with any of these peasants?"

"Am I one of those peasants then?" Calix's voice has taken a hard edge; I can tell that he's genuinely offended by this implication. When I look up, his affable manner has disappeared to be replaced with a glare.

Even Knox realises that she might want to tone down her attitude. "Er, well, I suppose District One is the most bearable of the lot. After District Two, of course."

Calix steps forwards threateningly, forcing Knox to back away against the chariot. "How generous," he hisses. "I'll let you sleep on that offer, shall I?"

"Nice going there," I say as soon as he's retreated to his chariot. My sarcasm is biting. "Your charisma was overwhelming. I'm surprised he wasn't kissing your feet."

"Shut up, Johan."

"I don't think I will, actually," I say. "He's capable of killing you, Knox. Insulting him - or any of the tributes, in fact - is a bad idea."

"Don't tell me what to do!" I notice she doesn't have any logical statement to defend herself with.

"I'm in an alliance with you," I point out, giving her a meaningful look. "You making enemies means I have to suffer the consequences alongside you. In fact, if you keep up being superior to everyone, I'll ditch you for the rest of the 'peasants'."

This draws a reaction from her. "What?! You can't do that to me!"

"Be _nice_ then. I wouldn't mind allying with Calix, so cut it out."

"Makes a change," she snipes. "Coming from the guy who's always been too good to work with the rest of us."

"When did I ever - "

Knox sighs irritably. "Just admit it, you always thought we were beneath you. I'm surprised you didn't rat me out with Calix."

"Why would I belittle you in front of a stranger? We're meant to be cooperating," I reply. "That means we have to communicate our ideas before we worry about the other tributes. None of them will have anywhere near as much knowledge or trust in their district partner, will they?"

"Just realised that, have you?" Her eyes glitter with malice. "I'm just giving you a friendly reminder that you're not any better than I am. You're worth just as much to District Two as I am, got it?"

"If that's the case, why do you feel the need to hammer it in so much?" I challenge her. "Tone it down; I sense your insecurity's showing."

Her mouth drops open in a round 'o' shape. "This is what I'm talking about. And weren't you saying that we're meant to be cooperating? Look who's being mean now."

"Mean?" I smirk. "I didn't know we were still in preschool."

"Whatever..." her voice trails off as she crosses her arms, sulking. I sigh as I turn back to scrutinising the other tributes.

Our outfits might be decent; something that had proved - in Knox's eyes - that the Capitol valued us more than the other districts, but she had been reluctant to admit that her logic meant that Districts One, Five, Seven and Eight are also considered valuable. Calix and Fern have been dressed to look like royalty with jewels decorating the velvet clothes they wear. There's even a diamond-encrusted crown nestled within Fern's brown curls.

District Five's Nicolet is definitely someone I have my eye on. She had volunteered for this and while she doesn't look particularly threatening, she must think she has some chance to willingly sign up for the Games. It's helped her grab the attention and her outfit would definitely make her the star of the show, so to speak. Nicolet's dress is reflective and the giant, heavy-duty lights positioned around her chariot would be enough for her outfit to literally dazzle the audience. Her district partner's tuxedo is made of the same material, but it's obvious he would be out-shined by Nicolet tonight.

The pair from District Seven are also on my radar, if only because of the outfits they wear that made them look like voodoo doctors. The masks they wore and the figurines attached to the string on their outfits are made of a variety of polished wood that I can't even name, which is probably the link to District Seven that the stylists are clinging to. The children themselves are scrawny and weak, all knobbly limbs and bones and are barely older than fourteen. April meets my gaze and waves, a smile on her face. I smile back, although it's just me moving a few muscles in my mouth. Inwardly, I'm already planning how exactly I can disable her in a fight. A simple punch to the throat would probably suffice for this girl. She's no fighter.

The boy, Alaric, notices my empty gaze and stands protectively in front of April, looking defiantly at me. I continue maintaining my smile, although it's proving difficult not to sneer at this child; does he expect to be any threat against me and Knox?

I decide that they would be the only threats tonight based on outfits, aside from District Eight. Mind you, they're hardly worth worrying about either. Both seem whiny and impudent, picking at their outfits and complaining to themselves, their stylists, each other and whoever cared to listen. The boy is being the most vocal with his complaints, talking loudly enough that I can hear him from six or so chariots away, while the girl is fidgeting in her costume awkwardly.

"Are you going to stop gawking at everyone and actually get on the chariot?" Knox asks irritably.

"It's not gawking, I'm just assessing the competition," I reply evenly as I board the chariot obediently.

"Oh really?" she scoffs. "And what did you discover? Whose outfits are the most sparkly? Who's not cringing at the possibility of being humiliated in front of the whole country? Yeah, you've really got the edge over everyone else," Knox says in a withering tone. "Save it for training, moron."

"There's no detriment in observing them now," I say.

"Detriment? Does that have like, the same meaning as disadvantage?" She sighs. "You and your annoyingly complicated words that I can't understand."

"You figured it out pretty easily," I try and phrase it as a compliment, but the sceptical look she give me tells me I've failed.

"Gee, don't sound so patronising while you're at it."

"I was merely stating a fact."

Knox whacks me gently with the armour plating she holds. "You're lucky we knew each other back home, or I would have punched you by now."

"Good to know you advocate needless violence."

"Needless?" Knox sounds like she's never heard of the word before. "How can using force ever be considered needless? You're asserting your dominance and _showing_ them that they should respect you. What, you think prancing around with agreements and compromises is how Panem should be run?"

"It should be used in order to advance civilisation, not to terrorise everyone into submission." I scan the rest of the tributes, noting with some satisfaction that everyone's now here. I'd prefer to proceed through the preliminary events as swiftly as possible. There's no sense in giving everyone a chance to say how much of a threat they're going to be when we could be busy showing the Capitol that. "Although I suppose veering off into the latter wouldn't be the worst trait to demonstrate to these tributes."

"That's more like it." Predictably, Knox focuses on the thinly-veiled threat of violence. It's all people like her seen to think the world revolves around, but that just makes it easier to pull her strings if I need to. She might scoff at the way I behave, but she knows that she'll fare a lot better in the Games if she listens to me. "Why do we even need anyone else?"

_So that I have someone to fall back on if you die_. "Contrary to your beliefs, we can do with the skills the other tributes have. Besides, two tributes against the rest doesn't strike me as the best plan. We can do with the numbers."

"They'll only get in the way," Knox says. "None of them are going to be anywhere near as disciplined as us." I have to stifle the urge to scoff at the thought of Knox being disciplined. "You saw what happened last year; it'll happen again. They're just a bunch of scared kids who don't know what they're doing. We're fighters, we don't need them dragging us down."

"We need other allies, unless you want me to stab you in the back." I deliberately make my voice icy. "You - of all people - should know what the Capitol's looking for. Do you honestly not think that betraying our 'allies' isn't going to cause more rifts between the districts? That's why we're here." She scowls, although I can't entirely fault her. "I'm not thrilled about spending time with them either, but it's necessary."

"Okay, whatever." She tosses back her hair in an exaggerated dismissive gesture. "Lower ourselves to allying with the lower districts, right? Sure, got it." Knox glares at me. "You'd better not backstab me, or you're in for a world of hell when you get back."

I shrug. It's a good thing that I've never been that close to Knox, because with her unpleasant attitude, someone else would be willing to kill her long before I get the chance. "Deal."

* * *

**_Melantha Elvane (16), District 12 Female_**

"Time to shine, buttercup."

These are the idiotic words of my stylist before he flips me off and walks away, grinning at the fact that he's succeeded in making me look quite the fool. If wearing nothing but coal dust isn't enough to make the Capitol mock me, I don't know what is. It's chilly as well, meaning that goosebumps are making themselves evident all over my body, and the gawking of the other tributes isn't helping me feel much better. I'm used to people trying to insult me about how much of a bitch I am, not them critiquing my appearance. Back in District Twelve, being abnormally underfed and pale isn't much cause for attention. I had been constantly covered with coat dust anyway, but at least I had clothes on as well.

"I'm loving your stylist's angle there," the boy from the nearest chariot calls over at me, whistling when he's done. "Very sexy."

"Yeah, that's probably why they covered you up in that." I incline my head towards the bulky pumpkin outfit he's wearing. "Don't worry, I doubt there's anything under there worth showing."

The blush is obvious even with the orange paste smeared over his face and his district partner sniggers. At least she isn't ridiculously loyal to her district.

"Ignore him. He's a jerk." The girl from Eleven rolls her eyes. "He's been making incredibly 'witty' jokes about me being a woman for the duration of the train ride and how attractive he'll be tonight."

"He's really living up to that statement," I remark sarcastically, making the girl smile slightly. Her outfit is equally embarrassing; a mouldy green tube with a dark green beret on top. I remember my escort babbling on about those and decide to ask. "What's your outfit? Is it a courgette?"

"No, cucumber." She shrugs and I feel irritation at the fact that I had just made myself look a fool in front of this girl. She doesn't pick up on this opportunity to embarrass me, much to her credit, and continues, "it's nothing spectacular, so you ain't missing much."

"Beats a pumpkin," I say pointedly, directing all of my venom into those words while looking at the boy from Eleven, who looks less than happy with being mocked by the two of us. He turns around to face the front and slouches moodily. The girl just rolls her eyes at him.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm not blaming you for his stupidity," I reassure her. "I'm Melantha."

"Nice to meet you," she nods at me, her voice curt. I don't need to see her turn around to face forwards again to realise that she's dismissing me. Clearly, she isn't much of a talker. It really is a shame that she hasn't realised that I deserve far better than to be treated like everybody else and that she should have gone out of her way to talk to me. The fact that she dismisses me like she's done to everyone else implies that she's lumped me in alongside scum like her district partner and Arthur. I scowl at the back of her head; that insult would not go unheeded.

Movement from the District Four chariot reminds me of the fact that - at least - my outfit isn't the only awful one around. As well as Ianthe's 'cucumber' outfit, the pair from District Four have been forced into odd pink suits that don't enable them to move around much. Their suits look like giant stars, with their limbs making up four of the points and the fifth being where their heads were. Both of them just look resigned, having expected their stylists to embarrass them in this way. Meanwhile, District Ten are basically wearing giant balls of shredded cotton that have been splattered with what's supposed to be blood, which the girl, Robin, is not taking well to as she glowers at everyone while trying to cover up her outfit with her arms. It's like the District Ten stylists are begging someone to recreate those wounds on their tributes.

Good thing that I'm here then, isn't it?

"Melantha, I think we're going soon - " Arthur's words are cut off as the chariot suddenly jerks forward. Stumbling, I cling onto the side of the chariot as it moves out, exposing my pubescent body to everyone. There's nothing but the sounds of the District Eleven tributes having their names jeered at them for a couple of seconds before they notice that me and Arthur are here and start emitting raucous laughter, everyone pointing and sneering at us like the sheep they all are. A constant cheer can be heard over the jeers, a stream of _die, die, die_ interspersed with catcalls and rude gestures.

It's not long before someone ups the ante with this humiliation by lobbing a half-eaten cereal bar our way. A small assortment of styrofoam cups, plastic crisp wrappers and apple cores - along other things - is quick to land in our chariot. I choose not to flinch away as something whacks me in the head, refusing to show any chinks in my armour. Instead, I raise one hand and wave with a sickeningly sweet smile tugging up my lips before flipping them off in turn, making sure to still smile angelically while I'm at it.

They aren't people, these unmarred, polished caricatures of human beings; why should I bother submitting to them like Arthur's doing? That stupid smile that he had once given me is on his face again, his yellow teeth bared for all to see while the sweat on his face is reflecting back the light. All the while, he awkwardly waves, looking like a puppet. There's nothing I want to do more than to tear away his silly facade of being a capable boy and show the entire world what cowardly, backstabbing _thing_ hides under his skin. It's too bad that shoving him off the chariot wouldn't grant him a lingering death, or even really hurt anything aside from his over-inflated pride. All it would do is make him more wary of me, which I don't want yet.

I haven't even dignified his existence by speaking to him and although he hasn't paid much attention to that yet, I'm sure that even he'll start wondering why I'm blatantly ignoring him sooner or later. If he think that I'm 'withdrawn' just because I've been Reaped, he's sadly mistaken.

His mere presence is an insult to me; every tribute here is metaphorically spitting on me by even thinking they have a chance. At least some of them, like the boy from Three and the girl from One, have the humility to show their fear. Everyone else who's waving or smiling like there's no tomorrow are just trying to get the advantage over me and I really can't have that.

From the crowd, one particularly repulsive voice cries out, "Melantha an' Arthur, sitting in a tree, K-I-L-L-I-N-G!"

This new chorus is quickly taken up until it threatens to overwhelm the reception the other tributes are getting. All the while, I continue to smile. Even the Capitol realises how Arthur would end up in the Games.

From out of the corner of my eye, I see Arthur look like he's about to throw up and I give him a smirk. He mistakes this for a smile, it seems, as some of the tension in his body disappears. Raising one hand - as if I'm about to wave at him - I draw a finger across my throat, making a cross-eyed expression whilst doing so.

Confusion is quick to make Arthur's eyes widen as the crowd jeer at my antics and his reaction. _So much for impressing the Capitol, Arthur dear._

It's a good thing that my district partner is so easy to intimidate. Having anyone that can actually be classed as a threat coming from District Twelve is not what I want. Everyone there's nothing but trash; they don't deserve a good representation via the Games. Undermining Arthur only helps drive in that impression further.

There's nothing to be done about me also being from that district, however. Then again, I'm the exception, the one that'll become victor while they can fight each other for scraps. I won't need to step over Uriel any longer in order to steal a loaf of bread; he'll be the one knocking at my door for a good night's meal. All I really have to do is survive in the big, scary outdoors for a couple of weeks, to boil the Games down to the skeleton. That's basically been my life for the past two years.

_You'll have to kill this time_. That obvious fact rings in my head, although it's not something I can ignore so easily. _That's not simple. You haven't even killed an animal before_.

It's not as if I had never had a taste of meat, but hunters in Twelve are limited to a handful of families who dare to venture past the fence every now and then, so it's not every day that I can steal their prey from the snares they set. Now that I'm here, said families probably had their suspicions over who had been stalking them verified.

Another sudden jolt from the chariot breaks me out of my thoughts and I shake my head in an attempt to concentrate. That's proving difficult to manage when there's nothing to actually do on these chariots. Even the crowds are more somber now, curiosity replacing their earlier disdain as the chariots assemble into a semi-circle around the mansion where the President awaits, presumably to make some speech full of the same rhetoric copied from last year.

Why the Capitol feel this is necessary to hear again is beyond me. Do they really consider this unoriginal parade worthy of their time?

The moment the President steps onto the podium, a hush falls over the city as he smiles. "Welcome, welcome, everyone. Here, we stand tonight to commemorate our strength, honour and courage in defeating our enemies. Standing before us today are the descendants of those who sought to destroy our way of _life_, our _values_ and our _dignity_." The sudden burst of passion he injects into the last few words is enough to rile the crowd into a frenzy as they try and lob litter at us in a futile attempt to spite us. I notice the girl from Three look disbelievingly at the crowd, apparently unable to comprehend the logic behind their antics, while I'm surprised to see the boy from Two clench his jaw, eyes glinting in anger for a moment before he regains his composure.

Well, you know that when you've managed to antagonise even those patriots from Two, you're pushing it.

The President makes no effort to stop this, letting the crowd act like the wild animals that we district citizens are supposed to resemble. The sheer immensity and volume of the cat-calling, shrill cries and plastic wrappers being thrown our way hits me like a wall.

Eventually, this subsides, although there's still the occasional scrap thrown our way. "But tributes, we are not vengeful and will give respect when it is due. Tonight, we will also honour your courage and your sacrifice!"

_Will you really? That's rich._

I roll my eyes as the Capitolites start cheering at this utter crap. All you have to do is glance back to see the innate amount of rubbish strewn around the path. It resembles a small landfill more than a pathway; I'm surprised that the chariots had even managed to navigate through all of that. I definitely don't envy the poor sods who have to do clean-up afterwards.

There's a metallic clinking sound of the bottles in my chariot hitting each other as the chariot starts following the other districts, never able to dominate. It's quite fitting for the district it represents and if I have any say in it, that's how it always will be.

When I win, I'll make sure that the District Twelve tributes are nothing but afterthoughts, known best for being the ones to die off nicely on the very first day.

After all, if I'm the only victor with any wealth, they'll all be dependent on me. And really, that's how it should have been to begin with.


	8. Choosing Sides

**Training Day 1**

**_Nicolet Armin (14), District 5 Female_**

The first thing my mind comprehends when I regain consciousness is the sting of cold water being splashed against my cheeks.

"Hope I didn't interrupt any sweet dreams of your family back home," Beatrix sneers, leering down at me. "It's the last time that you'll be seeing them."

"I don't remember my dreams," I state flatly as I pull back the covers and get to my feet, indifferent to the fact that I wear nothing but a loose nightgown. "But thank you for your concern."

She just purses her lips together in a thin line. "Sarcasm is not becoming on a lady, although I suppose a district resident like you wouldn't have such standards."

"Didn't you just say that you "hoped you didn't interrupt any of my dreams" or something along those lines? Would that not be considered sarcasm?"

"I meant no such thing by that!" she admonishes me mockingly. "I was showing concern for you. Is that not the done thing to do in the districts?"

"I wouldn't know," I say honestly. It's not as if I've spoken to anyone since the Games had been introduced, although that hadn't been intentional. Communication just hadn't seemed necessary back then to get by. That doesn't change the fact that hearing my own voice again is still a foreign thing to me.

"But you've lived there for your entire life!" Beatrix gasps. "Are you so disconnected from your family and friends that you don't even know their habits?"

"My family are dead," I say with no embellishment. "Your city are the ones that ordered the bombings that they died in. I haven't been in contact with the rest of my district since then, so I would not be an expert on how my district functions. If you really do care to know, I would recommend asking my district partner."

Her eyes narrow and I realise that I've struck a nerve with her as she leans in. "Don't you dare try and act like you're the ones suffering!" Beatrix snarls. "You brought this upon yourselves, thinking you're equal to the Capitol. You're little better than animals and you'd better not forget that!"

"Understood," I reply as soon as she's finished hissing out the last word, barely paying attention to what she's just said. If Beatrix doesn't care for me, then there's nothing stopping me from disregarding her in turn.

Beatrix shivers. "You'd better. Honestly, how anyone can bear to look at you is beyond me."

She walks off before I can respond, leaving me to get dressed. What would otherwise be a simple task is complicated by the innate amount of chest of drawers, wardrobes and closets shoved against the side of my room. There's a whole wardrobe that harbours nothing but shoes, even though there's no conceivable way that I'll be able to wear all of them even once in my remaining days. I wonder what the point actually is in giving us an inordinate amount of clothes is. Logic would dictate that these compartments have other uses for the Capitol during the year, but I can't help but wonder if this is more showing off.

I can't really say that I'm offended by this display of wealth; I only kept one pair of shoes back home and had just stolen a new pair whenever the need arose. Fashion doesn't really enter the equation in District Five and giving me unlimited access to the - frankly - garish high heels and trainers doesn't do anything for me.

Eventually deciding on a loose white top, crisp grey jeans and gleaming white trainers, I head over to where Beatrix and Austin sit, the latter sitting upright and cutting away at his food neatly.

When he notices me, his facade of courtesy melts away. "Oh look, if it isn't the pretty little princess. Woken up to reality yet?"

"Which would be what?"

He scoffs. "That you're not going to stand out when you walk in there. Everyone's going to be focusing on the tributes that can actually do something. They won't care about you just because you resembled a sparkly bauble yesterday."

"I'd prefer that." It's only when the words slip past my teeth that I realise that I've just expressed a preference for something; an illogical thing to do.

"Good for you, because that's what you'll be getting." With this dismissal, Austin turns back to slicing up his breakfast precisely with the cutlery available. Curious as to why you would use a knife and fork when your hands tear up the food just as well, I copy his movements as I try cutting the bread laid out for us.

The metal tools just seem cumbersome to me and I'm quick to abandon them. Beatrix turns up her nose at how I'm hacking away at the bread. "As I suspected. district citizens are just not cut out for civilisation."

"What about me, Miss?" Despite Austin's evident attempt at sounding pleasant, the whine in his tone is still enough to grate on my ears.

Beatrix doesn't turn to admire Austin's etiquette, choosing to stand up and strut away from the table. "Both of you need some work done on your presentation. Pouting and self-pity are not the ways forward, dears." She gives a dainty little wave as she leaves. "Don't forget, training begins at ten. The time on that clock over there says fifteen minutes to ten now. When the long handle reaches the ten, you know you should depart."

"I can read clocks, you know," Austin's indignation is biting, but Beatrix doesn't even seem to notice him.

Scowling, Austin shoves his drink into me as soon as the escort's gone. I don't do anything as the water sinks into the top I'm wearing and as he glowers at me.

"Was there any reason for that?" I ask dully.

Austin shoves his glass aside. "Oh sorry, don't you want my attention? Just like you got everyone's attention with _wanting_ to be in these Games and having the nicest outfit on the chariot rides and not even acknowledging the Capitol?" he says this all at once, having to stop to take a breath for a second. His voice is laced with bitterness that becomes more obvious as he continues, "they barely even know my name thanks to you."

"Why are you even trying?" I ask. Admittedly, I'm interested as to why my unpleasant district partner is so desperate to live when there's nothing to live for. "Neither of us are going to survive this. Don't you know that already?"

"You mean you're not going to survive this," he sneers. "I'm not going to have some orphan like you beat me. I'm better than you, got it? Yeah, you'd better." Austin seems to be trying to convince himself of this as much as he is with me. "I deserve this more than you ever will."

"You'll still die eventually like everyone else," my voice is flat. "But if you wish to feel superior to me before then, go ahead. I don't care."

"I _am_ superior to you, thanks," he responds immediately. "Just stay out of the spotlight like you're supposed to and you can go off and die at the Cornucopia."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

Oh, the one-and-only Austin Daivat always has to have the last word, regardless of how intelligent or mature that 'last word' is. Truly, he'll be a great loss to this world when he dies.

"Come along now, no time to waste with you two!" Beatrix reappears, tilting her head up so that she could look down on both of us. "You wouldn't want to miss out on another opportunity to meet the person that'll end up killing you, would you now?"

Austin scowls at this, but says nothing as he stands up and heads over to the elevators, making sure to glare at me again on the way out. If he's expecting me to react to his fickle emotions, he's sorely disappointed as I aimlessly shift the food around with my fork. Why should I even bother moving from here? It's not as if anything important will happen, will it? Nothing relevant will really happen here, nothing that anybody will care about in a decade's time. And if nobody's going to recognise my actions and if they don't really benefit me, then why bother doing anything? I don't even want to live, really, if you can call this living.

All I'm doing is existing.

My life - such as it is - is not worth living. I'm just a small part in the workings of the universe and there's no chance that I'll become anything more than that. The fact that such a big deal is being made out of my existence is absurd, but I shouldn't expect anything less from the Capitol. Of course, they would want to rub in the fact that I had willingly signed up for the event that had been created to punish the districts. They probably see it as me siding with the Capitol.

That small, insignificant act of me volunteering is now being blown up into this massive farce. They had even made an official announcement stating that 'volunteering' is now an official thing that you can do at the Reapings, that being Reaped isn't completely set in stone if someone wanted to volunteer.

Doesn't that defeat the purpose of these Games being a punishment? Why would the Capitol want to do that? Is it just them showing us another scrap of 'mercy' to the districts?

"Nicolet!" Beatrix's voice is shrill as she reappears. "You need to make haste!"

I don't spare her a glance. "Why should I?"

"You'll learn nothing with that attitude."

"And?"

She sighs, as if perceiving me as nothing more than an inconvenience, but her perky tone remains unaffected. "The other tributes will have an advantage over you, silly. That means they can kill you."

"...and?"

Narrowing her eyes, she grips my shoulder in a vice-like grip and yanks me from the chair. "I don't have time for your childish antics. You are fourteen years old! I know that might be an excuse for you to act in such a way in your district, but here, you are expected to adhere to our standards!"

"I was asking a valid question," I reply, indifferent to her rough treatment.

"You were being petty, as usual," Beatrix says. "Who wouldn't want to live?"

_You're not even considering that very possibility as an option?_

Saying nothing, I allow her to drag me along roughly with the same level of care that someone would apply when dragging a suitcase. It doesn't matter to me that Beatrix is making no attempts to hide her displeasure when the elevator doors open to reveal the tributes from Twelve, Nine and Seven. Shoving me in, I feel the curious gazes of the other tributes as they take in my damp hair and appearance.

"Looks like your morning's been more eventful than ours," Alaric chips in before the doors are even shut, while his district partner is quick to nod and give me a smile.

I incline my head in acknowledgement in his direction. "Unpleasant wake-up call."

"Wish I could sleep for that long," Linnet says enviously.

Before I can answer, Melantha snorts. "Yeah, may as well catch up on your beauty sleep before you end up being impaled on a spear, princess."

Linnet looks affronted and looks away, her face suddenly pale. April tilts her head up to look at Melantha. "How'd you know that she'll die from impalement?" she asks. "For all you know, it could be suffocation, stabbing, burning, organ failure from any number of thin - "

"I can't exactly mention all of them!" the Twelve girl spits out, stepping towards April in a blatant attempt at intimidation.

"What you said wasn't _exactly_ called for," Alaric mimics Melantha as he gives her a defiant look, standing next to April. I resist the temptation to tell him that his behaviour is only making it obvious that people can use April against him.

Melantha turns to stare down Alaric, looking no less ready to bother him, but the elevator doors open before she can say anything else. She goes out of her way to shove past Alaric as she leaves with the same level of maturity as a toddler. I wait patiently as the others step out before I follow, not invested enough in the situation to barge past and get into the training room faster.

I squint at the sudden change in lighting. While the elevator had been brightly lit, the contents of this room are illuminated in hues of silver and electric blue, with the light reflecting off the metal supports dotted around the room. Screens are fitted into these supports, helpfully telling us which station is which. Apparently, using paper is beneath the Capitol, even in spite of their recent losses.

I start to head over to the nearest pillar, but I'm pulled back by a trainer, who guides me over to where a semi-circle of tributes is forming. I find myself next to the girl from One and the boy from Four, both who give me sympathetic smiles as another trainer walks over to face all of us.

"In two weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead."

These words are enough to kill any of the conversations the other tributes had been fostering, allowing the trainer to continue. "You may be among those twenty-three, depending on how much you slack off over the next three days."

I've already started to tune him out, knowing perfectly well that no matter what I do, I'll just be another statistic by the end of the month.

Why had I even thought that this trainer would provide me with anything useful? I don't even plan on winning. I just want to be alive again, even if it's just for a couple of hours at most.

Twirling a strand of brown hair around my finger, I walk over to where there's a pillar the moment I sense everyone else is dispersing and lean against it, slowly dragging myself down to the ground. Why should I bother learning anything here when there's nothing that'll really make my existence on this planet any more meaningful?

Would learning how to swing one of those swords like the boy from One is save me from dying? Would competing in that contest the staff over at the obstacle course are hosting actually do anything to help me? No, it won't. Everyone who's trying to prolong their meaningless existence are just short-sighted. Even if I join in with them, I'll die anyway.

Everything between my birth and my death has just been me putting off the inevitable. It's only now that I've decided to face it, that's all.

"Hey, you!" the girl from District Two, according to her sleeve, shouts. I don't realise she's talking to me until she stomps over. "Aren't you going to do anything?"

I shake my head, confused, and she shakes her head in disapproval, tutting. "You're letting down your district here. No sense of pride, you."

I just blink, waiting for her to reveal why she's here, and she looks at me critically, like I'm a product that she's trying to decide wherever or not to buy. "You're not going to say anything?"

"Oh, leave her." Her district partner appears from behind her. "Not everyone is as enthused with supporting their district as you are, Knox."

"I guess it's a good thing she doesn't," Knox says. "Who would want to support her district over District Two?" She turns back to me. "Do you think your district is good, Five?" She nudges me with her foot. "Well, do you?" I shake my head again, shuffling away from this girl. "Good, at least she knows her place, Johan."

"A-are you al-allied?" I get out. They seem to be familiar with each other and they're from the same district. I just hoped that asking wouldn't be cause for Knox to mock me or for Johan to observe me with those icy blue eyes anymore.

"Of course," Knox replies. "District Two simply must stick together against the others." Her lip curls as her eyes scan the room. "I cannot be associated with someone of a lower status than me. Well, much lower," she adds. I initially think she's demeaning Johan until I notice her eyes are focused on the District One pair. Both of them were at the sword-fighting station, the boy sparring with the instructor while the girl stands by and looks bemused.

"You think District One meets your standards?"

Knox curls her lip up in a sneer. "No, but Johan is all too willing to tarnish our stellar reputation by associating with a bunch of pretty airheads like District One. At least they have more standards than to associate with anyone who does _farm_ work." She makes farming sound like the ultimate crime.

"Anyway." Johan has yet to stop looking at me, his eyes narrowed. "We should probably ask them instead of talking about it." Hand clamped around Knox's shoulder, he leads her away towards the tributes from One, whispering something to her while sneaking furtive glances at me.

I couldn't care less what he thinks. If he feels like I'm a threat, then he's just wasting his time.

* * *

**_Fern Matara (18), District 1 Female_**

"Any ideas for training then?"

Calix smirks. "I know one thing for sure: I'm not allying with you."

"Really? That's a great plan you've got going for you there," I say, exasperated. "Can we at least pretend to get along?"

There's a faint note of amusement present in his voice when he asks, "and why would I do that?"

"Well," I start off, trying to think of a good excuse. "Like, if you make it obvious that you, erm, want me dead - or even let the Capitol know that you may think that - then what does that tell the Capitol about how easily district loyalty can be severed?"

"I never said that - "

"Well, that's what they want, isn't it? For you to betray your own district in favour of survival."

Calix stops to think about this. "So you're saying that I have to ally with you? Oh, _and_ remain loyal?"

"Try not to sound too enthusiastic then," I say. "And no, we don't have to ally. All this asks for is to be civil to each other. Think you can manage that?"

He just gives a noncommittal grunt at this before his forehead creases in confusion. "Wait, who _are_ you going to ally with then?"

"No one."

He gives me a stunned look. "Your funeral then."

"Because having allies automatically grants you victor status, I see."

"It worked last year." Calix shrugs. "And it gives me an advantage."

I can see why he's be so willing to have allies, taking last year's Games into consideration. There had been two alliances last year and only one had consisted of tributes from different districts. Seeing as the only victor had been in that alliance, it's all too easy to think that all you have to do to win is ally with a couple of people. "Bet there'll be a half dozen alliances by the end of today."

"And you plan on joining none of them." Calix grins. "You're crazier than I thought, Matara."

"Pity. I think those so-called alliances would be a most fitting remedy for you, Fern." Cassian seems to appear from nowhere. "We'd see how quickly your little group would fall apart at the first hurdle, wouldn't we, Calix?"

Calix frowns at this. "How'd you guess my intentions?"

"I am perfectly aware of the sheep mentality that district residents have. Huddling together would naturally be their first instinct," he replies in a monotone. "Who are you considering, just out of curiosity?"

I lean forward at this and Calix gives me a knowing smile. "The District Two tributes."

"You don't think allying with district partners puts you at a disadvantage?" I inquire. "They're more likely to be loyal to each other than to you."

"Yeah, because me and you get along so bloody well, eh?"

Cassian coughs, derailing the budding debate. "I personally don't feel that it would matter either way. They'll kill each other just as readily as they will with you." As I open my mouth to disagree, he whips his head around and in a sharper tone, says, "this 'district loyalty' you'd speak of does not actually exist, Fern."

"How'd you explain the Dark Days then?" Calix cuts in.

"How would you explain Districts Ten and Two being the ones to turn coats and work covertly for the Capitol without having to surrender, do you mean? Or perhaps you refer to how readily the tributes from last year turned on each other?" There's a smug smile on Cassian's face. "It doesn't matter what you say, none of you even know what loyalty really is, let alone be able to apply it to anything you claim to value." Ignoring me, he turns to face Calix. "You want to ally with those District Two tributes? By all means, go right ahead. Just be aware that by aligning yourself with them, you have not bought their devotion to you. Rather, you only have a reprieve from their wrath, which will last several days at best."

_Well, aren't you feeling generous today?_ I think. Cassian, actually giving some legitimate advice to help us? That's a first.

Calix rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever, I'll keep it in mind."

"Good." Cassian gestures with his arm to the elevator, as if we don't know where it is already. "Now would be an excellent time to depart."

Obediently, we board the elevators. We're among the last to arrive, judging by the impatient looks we get when the doors open again. Apprehension strikes my heart as I look into the eyes of the others. They're so eager to get started with 'training' that they'll behave like this when we hold them up? It's like they actually want to kill us.

I have to pinch the flesh of my leg to pay even a scrap of attention to the introduction and I'm not sure if any of it has gone in, for the first thing I do is mindlessly follow my district partner over to the hand-to-hand combat station. Instead of participating, I sit down on the bench with the hesitation of an old woman, frightened that my bones would give out on me at any given moment.

Looking around, seeing all the weapons and how destructive they are and how willingly some of the tributes are using these weapons is enough to make me feel like I'm being punched and shoved around almost as much as Calix. My skull might get caved in the same way Stella had destroyed the head of that dummy, my heart might be torn out with one of the knives Linnet wields right now or my ribs might be cracked after a punch from Calix.

I put my head in my hands, wishing these images would just go away. The Reaping hadn't been the right time to dwell on these thoughts and right now, when I'm in front of everyone, isn't a better alternative.

_But when will it be 'the right time' to think about this? They're going to kill you!_

"Come on, Matara," Calix urges, risking making eye contact with me while battling the instructor. "You won't learn anything moping around like that."

"Yes, because you'll learn so much from two days of being pummelled." My remark sounds more abrasive than I mean for it to be as the instructor takes advantage of Calix's distraction and slams him into the mattress. "Who knew getting beaten up like that could be so educational?"

"Beats not being prepared for it like Miss Priss over here," he says with a superior air. "Who's not going to be ready for having a speck of dirt under their nails?"

"That logic works on the assumption that I care about any of that."

"Going to be a shame to see that pretty face ruined though," Calix gets out as he lifts himself off the mattress.

"You find me attractive?" I ask sceptically.

He smirks. "Yeah, I'll admit that I find you hot. Too bad you're completely out of bounds."

Calix can't seem to get over the divide that had split us up in District One. Then I remember all the split-second decisions I've made about other people and how difficult it's been for me to change my mind afterwards, so maybe I can't feel much better on that point. "And now I'm fair game?"

"Far as I'm aware, you're still the same know-it-all I've become acquainted with."

Oh, that's what he meant by being inaccessible. "Fair enough."

Calix suddenly moves closer to me, invading my personal space as he backs me against one of the pillars. "Don't worry, I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better later." He winks at me before bursting out into laughter at the shocked expression on my face.

"You two are disgusting. Is it too much to ask that you stop behaving like savages for a second and start acting like respectable citizens? You're representing your district here, much to their embarrassment, I'm sure." The pair from District Two appear from behind a rack of spears; Knox is giving us her trademark look of hauteur while the boy is observing me from head to toe with icy blue eyes.

Calix grins deviously at the boy. "Looks like your girl hasn't learned any manners since yesterday then, hm?"

"I am not his girl!" Knox snaps. "You might treat women like property back in District One, but that's not going to happen here."

I hear an exasperated sigh from the boy. "Knox - "

"No, Johan. Shut up!" She turns on him. "This was your dumb idea. I'm not allying with someone like him!"

"There's nothing wrong with him," Johan says patiently. Before Knox can reply, he adds, "his district is not a relevant factor in this."

"His attitude is!" She hisses, putting unnecessary emphasis on the last word. "He's revolting and I'm not having him anywhere near me!" Before anyone can stop her, she struts away to a station that's opposite ours, head held high in the air.

"What a shame," Calix teases. "Looks like it'll just be little ol' me on my own then. How sad."

"No, no, wait! She's just, er, a bit stressed from being put in this situation, that's all," Johan stumbles over his words in his haste to defend himself. "Knox just isn't, um, _comfortable_ with unfamiliar people, that's all. She'll come around."

"She'd damn well better." My eyes widen at Calix's words. Within the span of an entire sentence, his demeanour has changed. He's no longer gently mocking Johan, if his aggressive stance and the poorly-veiled threat meant anything. Johan's noticed it too, stiffening slightly as he looks between me and Calix warily. "Oh, come on, you don't think I have better things to be doing than to worry about you two?" Calix says irritably. "Just go away like the good little dog that you are and 'comfort' her then, since she's so _miserable_."

For a second, I think I see a flash of irritation in Johan's eyes, but he averts his gaze before I can confirm this for sure. "Will do."

Without a second glance, he starts to scamper off to find Knox, but he's quick to stop when Calix starts laughing. "You really don't have a sense of humour, do you? I'd be cool with an alliance, you know."

Now it's my turn to give Calix a quizzical look. "I thought you were being sincere as well."

"That's good to hear," Johan says before Calix has enough time to reply. "I'll pass on the news to Knox. She'll come around given some time."

Johan leaves, heading over to where Knox is complaining to the instructor at her station, expressing her distaste with exaggerated hand gestures. Calix watches him go before he turns to me, no longer looking quite as menacing as he had done just a scant minute ago.

"Surely it would have made more sense not to have insulted him before saying you wanted an alliance?" I ask as soon as he's out of hearing distance.

"Could have done, but it's more fun watching those two argue about it."

From what I can see, Knox is taking her irritation out on Johan. "And what about Knox then?"

"As far as I'm concerned, she can piss off," he says. "She don't look like much anyway. Knox ain't even pretty."

I roll my eyes at how Calix considers appearances to be a relevant factor in deciding alliances. "Would it be too much for you to speak with correct grammar? It's 'doesn't' and 'isn't', not 'don't' and 'ain't', Calix."

"Whatever." He flicks his fringe out of his eyes dismissively before he narrows his eyes at me. "Why do you care about _my_ alliance, anyway? You're not joining."

"So, I'm not allowed to be concerned about the welfare of my district partner?" I feign shock.

"It doesn't seem very erm," he stops as he thinks about this for a moment, and I allow my concentration to drift to the agitated movements Robin, the Ten girl, is making at her district partner. She keeps tugging persistently at his arm, which always results in him pulling away and shaking his head. My guess is that they're arguing over an alliance. After a few more petulant whines from Robin - which I can hear even from several metres away - she storms off.

"Logical," Calix says abruptly.

"What?"

"Logical," he reiterates proudly. "_Displaying_ concern for me does not seem _particularly_ logical of you."

I roll my eyes at how he emphasises the words that he thinks sound impressive. "Wow," I say scornfully. "Truly, I am astounded by the variety in vocabulary you applied there."

"I know! Isn't he so smart?" Both of us jump at this unexpected voice. Looking up, I notice two tributes casually sitting on the nets, both grinning at us like mad. For some reason, they've decided to use the time here to have some sort of paint fight, judging by the multicoloured specks on their faces.

"Coming from the people sitting up there and covering themselves with paint?" Calix mocks.

One of them - a boy with a shock of dark hair and broad lips pulled back in a smile - looks even more amused by Calix's dismissal. "You've never done it before, I take it? Aw, you don't know what you're missing out on."

"I'm sure I'll have time to find out when I get back."

The other person moves forward, revealing herself to be the girl from Seven, April. "Who says that you're going to win? You might never find out, and wouldn't that be a shame?"

Grinning, April dips her hand into the pot she holds and starts trying to splatter me and Calix. Although most of it just ends up going on her or the net, a couple of dark purple splatters manage to reach us. She giggles as Calix scowls.

"Do you mind?"

"Not really, no," the boy - Alaric, I recall - replies without missing a beat, joining in with his district partner by flicking more paint onto Calix. "Purple and green suit you."

"That's great to hear, really." Calix gives him a tight smile. "Now why don't you run off and let us get something useful done?"

Alaric's smile becomes strained. "What, learning how to kill us all, you mean?" When he notices me raising my eyebrows, he drops the amiability altogether. "That's what you two are doing here. No point in trying to disguise that."

"Who says I am?" Calix challenges. "You don't think I know that I'm practising to kill you with one of them?" He looks over and points at a dummy which Arthur's just destroyed with a mace. April follow his gaze, eyes lighting up with interest. "Or that each dummy I practise on is gonna be you two within a week?"

"Calix!" My voice cuts through the budding conversation like a knife. "Leave them alone. It's not your business what they decide to do."

He doesn't look amused as he regards me with cold eyes. "I'm just saying what's going to happen to them, but if they want to waste their time away, then fine." Calix gives the District Seven pair one last glance. "Just as long as they don't bother me."

He doesn't give me enough time to formulate a response before he leaves, making it clear that he's not interested in having company. Alaric just lets out a long whistle. "Wow, he's really taking this seriously, ain't he?"

I don't even crack a smile at this. "He does have a point. It's not really fair to distract him from...training. If that's what he's chosen to do..."

"But it's so he has an advantage - so he can kill us. Doesn't that bother you?"

April, who had been absorbed with watching the boy from Twelve practise, decides to join in with the conversation. "I think it's interesting, all of this stuff we have." Tugging on Alaric's sleeve, she gestures at the knife-throwing area. "Can we go over there? That looks cool."

My lips twist into a frown. While April's attitude would be endearing under normal circumstances, it only makes me feel pity for her now. For her, this really would be the end of the line. And I might be the one to kill her.

I bite down on my lip, hoping the pain would distract me, but Alaric's enthusiasm manages to do that for me. "Sure, why not? We'll see how many of those targets we can get to light up, yeah?"

Distracted by this new game of theirs, they start clambering down, dropping the paint pots onto the floor clumsily. April accidentally falls over as she's getting down and gets her shoes covered in the paint, but all this does is encourage her to dance around the room, leaving tracks on the floor.

Looking at them, it's inconceivable to even dream of laying a finger on them. They're just two kids in over their heads. Watching them tease each other with the thoughts of their deaths in my mind only makes me feel even more monstrous. What kind of person looks at them playing and envisions killing them?

Clearly, I've considered it, and I doubt that anyone will take that much time to process their actions when the Games really do begin. Grimly, I realise that even if I don't survive, at least one of them will die as well. Chances are that another tribute will be the one to end their alliance, that there's someone in this room that'll disregard the lives of those two in favour of their own.

Can I kill someone like that in that scenario? Someone who would kill someone else if I had stood by and did nothing? I'd act then, if it means that I stop someone from prolonging someone else's death, if they really deserve it.

But who am I to say what someone else deserves? What gives me the right to judge others by their past actions before committing the same offence that I'm supposedly punishing them for? Especially when I have no way of truly knowing the justifications behind anyone's behaviour. It's not logical to act like that, to believe that I'm better than someone as I stand over their corpse...

A wave of fear rushes through me at the thought of that corpse being me and any semblance of a 'logical' approach to this disappears with it, leaving just one thought: I do not want to die.

No, I don't want to die, I can't, but there's no way that I can stay away from death unless all of the others die. Calix, Alaric, April - they all have to die.

Still, there's nothing that's stopping me from simply avoiding everyone else. If I don't want to kill, then the best way of doing that is by simply never stumbling across anyone. I do not want to be part of this conflict, so I shall avoid it.

_All you'll be doing with that is standing by and letting everyone else die off._

As opposed to showing that this is wrong, I'll just be turning a blind eye. That's what everyone else will do, so long as it doesn't affect them. Give or take a few years and these Games won't even raise an eyebrow. They might even be lauded as a compromise compared to what the Capitol could have punished the districts with, although it's not like I'll get the chance to find out.

There's nothing that I can do about that, not without diving straight into the line of fire myself. I have no idea how much the other tributes mean it when they compete against each other now, but it's not a safe bet to think that they'll be welcoming towards me in the arena.

For now, I'll have to look after myself, and if that means that I have to stand by and watch everyone else fall around me, at least I can say that I had no part in it.


End file.
